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ANDROCLES  AND  THE  LION 

OVERRULED 

PYGMALION 


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BRENTANO'S 

FIFTH   AVENUE   AND   27th   STREET,   NEW    YORK 


ANDROCLES  AND  THE  LION 
OVERRULED  PYGMALION 
BY  BERNARD  SHAW. 


BRENTANO'S  *  NEW  YORK 
MCMXVI 


Copyright,  19H,  by  Ridgway  Co. 

Copyright,  1914,  by  Ridgway  Co. 

Copyright,  1914,  by  O.  Bernard  Shaw. 

Copyright,  1916,  by  G.  Bernard  Shaw. 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


A  I  5 

\1>  ^ 


to 


Androcles  and  the  Lion     . 

Preface  on  the  Prospects  of  Christianity 
Why  not  give  Christianity  a  Trial? 
Why  Jesus  more  than  Another  ? 
Was  Jesus  a  Coward? 
Was  Jesus  a  Martyr?  . 
The  Gospels  without  Prejudice 
The   Gospels   now   unintelligible 

Novices 

Worldliness  of  the  Majority 
Religion    of    the    Mmority.      Salva 

tionism 
The  Difference  between  Atonement 

and  Punishment 
Salvation  at  first  a  Class  Privilege 

and  the  Remedy 
Retrospective  Atonement;   and   the 

Expectation  of  the  Redeemer 
Completion  of  the  Scheme  by  Luther 

and  Calvin         .... 
John  Barleycorn 

Looking  for  the  End  of  the  World 
The  Honor  of  Divine  Parentage 

Matthew 

The    Annunciation ; 

the  Flight  . 
John  the  Baptist  . 


the    Massacre 


xm 
xiii 

XV 

xvi 

xviii 

xix 

XX 

xxi 
xxii 

xxiv 

XXV 
XXVI 

xxvii 

xxvii 

xxix 

XXX 

xxxii 

xxxii 
xxxiii 


VI 


Contents 


Jesus  joins  the  Baptists 

The  Savage  John  and  the  Civilized 

Jesus 

Jesus  not  a  Proselytist 

The  Teachings  of  Jesus 

The  Miracles         .... 

Matthew  imputes  Bigotry  to  Jesus 

The  Great  Change 

'Jerusalem  and  the  Mystical  Sacrifice 

Not  this  Man  but  Barabbas 

The  Resurrection 

Date  of  Matthew's  Narrative    . 

Class  Type  of  Matthew's  Jesus 

Mark 

The  Women  Disciples  and  the  As 
cension 


Luke 

Luke  the  Literary  Artist     . 
The  Charm  of  Luke's  Narrative 
The  Touch  of  Parisian  Romance 
Waiting  for  the  Messiah     . 

John 

A  New  Story  and  a  New  Character 
John  the  Immortal  Eye  Witness 
The  Peculiar  Theology  of  Jesus 
John   agreed   as   to   the   Trial   and 

Crucifixion         .... 
Credibility  of  the  Gospels  . 
Fashions  of  Belief 
Credibility  and  Truth 
Christian  Iconolatry    and  the  Peril 

of  the  Iconoclast      .... 


FAGB 

xxxiv 

xxxiv 

xxxvi 

XXX  vii 

xxxviii 

xl 

xli 

xHii 

xliv 

xliv 

xliv 

xlv 

xlvi 

xlvi 

xlviii 

xlviii 

xlix 

1 

li 

liii 
liii 
liv 
Ivii 

Iviii 

Ix 

Ixii 

Ixiii 

Ixv 


Contents 


vu 


The  Alternative  to  Barabbas  ,  .  Ixvii 
The  Reduction  to  Modern  Practice 

of  Christianity Ixix 

Modern  Communism  ....       Ixxi 

Redistribution Ixxii 

Shall  He  Who  Makes,  Own?      .       .    Ixxiii 

Labor  Time Ixxiv 

The  Dream  of  Distribution  Accord- 
ing to  Merit Ixxiv 

Vital  Distribution  ....  Ixxv 
Equal  Distribution  ....  Ixxvii 
The  Captain  and  the  Cabin  Boy  .  Ixxviii 
The  Political  and  Biological  Objec- 
tions to  Inequality  ....  Ixxix 
Jesus  as  Economist  ....  Ixxix 
Jesus  as  Biologist  ....  Ixxx 
Money    the    Midwife    of    Scientific 

Communism Ixxxi 

Judge  Not Ixxxiii 

Limits  to  Free  Will  ....  Ixxxiv 
Jesus  on  Marriage  and  the  Family  .  Ixxxvi 
Why  Jesus  did  not  Marry  .  .  .  Ixxxvii 
Inconsistency  of  the  Sex  Instinct  .  Ixxxviii 
For  Better  for  Worse  ....  Ixxxix 

The  Remedy xc 

The  Case  for  Marriage  .  .  .  xci 
Celibacy  no  Remedy  ....  xcii 
After  the  Crucifixion  ....  xciv 
The    Vindictive    Miracles    and    the 

Stoning  of  Stephen  ....      xciv 

Paul xcvi 

The  Confusion  of  Christendom  .  c 

The  Secret  of  Paul's  Success      .        .  ci 

Paul's  Qualities ciii 

The  Acts  of  the  Apostles    .       .       .       civ 


Vlll 


Contents 


The  Controversies  on  Baptism  and 

Transubstantiation  . 
The  Alternative  Christs 
Credulity  no  Criterion 
Belief  in   Personal  Immortality  no 

Criterion 

The    Secular    View    Natural,    not 

Rational,  therefore  Inevitable 
"The  Higher  Criticism"     . 
The  Perils  of  Salvationism 
The  Importance  of  Hell  in  the  Sal 

vation  Scheme  .... 
The  Right  to  refuse  Atonement 
The  Teaching  of  Christianity  . 
Christianity  and  the  Empire 

Appendix  to  the  Play 


cvi 

cix 

ex 

cxi 

cxii 
cxiii 
cxv 

cxv 

cxvi 

cxvii 

cxix 

51 


Overruled 


59 


Preface 


The  Alleviations  of  Monogamy 

Inaccessibility  of  the  Facts 

The  Convention  of  Jealousy 

The    Missing   Data   of   a   Scientific 

Natural  History  of  Marriage 
Artificial  Retribution  . 
The    Favorite    Subject   of    Farcical 

Comedy 

The  Pseudo  Sex  Play  . 
Art  and  Morality         .        .        . 
The  Limits  of  Stage  Presentation 
Pruderies  of  the  French  Stage   . 
Our  Disillusive  Scenery 


61 
61 
62 
63 

65 
66 

67 
68 
69 
70 
71 
72 


Contents  ix 


Holding  the  Mirror  up  to  Nature     .         73 
Farcical  Comedy  Shirking  its  Subject         74 


Pygmalion  107 

Preface 109 

A  Professor  of  Phonetics     .        .        .  109 

Sequel 209 

What  Happened  Afterwards      .        .  209 


ANDROCLES  AND  THE  LION 
XXIII 

1912 


PREFACE    ON    THE    PROSPECTS 
OF    CHRISTIANITY 

Why  not  give  Christianity  a  Trial  ? 

The  question  seems  a  hopeless  one  after  2000  years  of 
resolute  adherence  to  the  old  cry  of  "Not  this  man,  but 
Barabbas."  Yet  it  is  beginning  to  look  as  if  Barabbas 
was  a  failure,  in  spite  of  his  strong  right  hand,  his  vic- 
tories, his  empires,  his  millions  of  money,  and  his  mor- 
alities and  churches  and  political  constitutions.  "This 
man"  has  not  been  a  failure  yet;  for  nobody  has  ever 
been  sane  enough  to  try  his  way.  But  he  has  had  one 
quaint  triumph.  Barabbas  has  stolen  his  name  and  taken 
his  cross  as  a  standard.  There  is  a  sort  of  compliment 
in  that.  There  is  even  a  sort  of  loyalty  in  it,  like  that 
of  the  brigand  who  breaks  every  law  and  yet  claims  to 
be  a  patriotic  subject  of  the  king  who  makes  them.  We 
have  always  had  a  curious  feeling  that  though  we  cruci- 
fied Christ  on  a  stick,  he  somehow  managed  to  get  hold 
of  the  right  end  of  it,  and  that  if  we  were  better  men 
we  might  try  his  plan.  There  have  been  one  or  two 
grotesque  attempts  at  it  by  inadequate  people,  such  as 
the  Kingdom  of  God  in  Munster,  which  was  ended  by 
a  crucifixion  so  much  more  atrocious  than  the  one  on 
Calvary  that  the  bishop  who  took  the  part  of  Annas  went 
home  and  died  of  horror.  But  responsible  people  have 
never  made  such  attempts.  The  moneyed,  respectable, 
capable  world  has  been  steadily  anti-Christian  and  Bar- 
abbasque  since  the  crucifixion ;  and  the  specific  doctrine 
of  Jesus  has  not  in  all  that  time  been  put  into  political 


xiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

or  general  social  practice.  I  am  no  more  a  Christian 
than  Pilate  was,  or  you,  gentle  reader;  and  yet,  like 
Pilate,  I  greatly  prefer  Jesus  to  Annas  and  Caiaphas; 
and  I  am  ready  to  admit  that  after  contemplating  the 
world  and  human  nature  for  nearly  sixty  years,  I  see 
no  way  out  of  the  world's  misery  but  the  way  which 
would  have  been  found  by  Christ's  will  if  he  had  un- 
dertaken the  work  of  a  modem  practical  statesman. 

Pray  do  not  at  this  early  point  lose  patience  with  me 
and  shut  the  book.  I  assure  you  I  am  as  sceptical  and 
scientific  and  modern  a  thinker  as  you  will  find  any- 
where. I  grant  you  I  know  a  great  deal  more  about 
economics  and  politics  than  Jesus  did,  and  can  do  things 
he  could  not  do.  I  am  by  all  Barabbasque  standards 
a  person  of  much  better  character  and  standing,  and 
greater  practical  sense.  I  have  no  sympathy  with  vaga- 
bonds and  talkers  who  try  to  reform  society  by  taking 
men  away  from  their  regular  productive  work  and  mak- 
ing vagabonds  and  talkers  of  them  too;  and  if  I  had 
been  Pilate  I  should  have  recognized  as  plainly  as  he 
the  necessity  for  suppressing  attacks  on  the  existing 
social  order,  however  corrupt  that  order  might  be,  by 
people  with  no  knowledge  of  government  and  no  power 
to  construct  political  machinery  to  carry  out  their  views, 
acting  on  the  very  dangerous  delusion  that  the  end  of 
the  world  was  at  hand.  I  make  no  defence  of  such 
Christians  as  Savonarola  and  John  of  Leyden :  they  were 
scuttling  the  ship  before  they  had  learned  how  to  build 
a  raft;  and  it  became  necessary  to  throw  them  overboard 
to  save  the  crew.  I  say  this  to  set  myself  right  with 
respectable  society;  but  I  must  still  insist  that  if  Jesus 
could  have  worked  out  the  practical  problems  of  a  Com- 
munist constitution,  an  admitted  obligation  to  deal  with 
crime  without  revenge  or  punishment,  and  a  full  assump- 
tion by  humanity  of  divine  responsibilities,  he  would 
have  conferred  an  incalculable  benefit  on  mankind,  be- 


Preface  xv 

cause  these  distinctive  demands  of  his  are  now  turning 
out  to  be  good  sense  and  sound  economics. 

I  say  distinctive,  because  his  common  humanity  and 
his  subjection  to  time  and  space  (that  is^  to  the  Syrian 
life  of  his  period)  involved  his  belief  in  many  things, 
true  and  false^  that  in  no  way  distinguish  him  from  other 
Syrians  of  that  time.  But  such  common  beliefs  do  not 
constitute  specific  Christianity  any  more  than  wearing 
a  beard,  working  in  a  carpenter's  shop,  or  believing  that 
the  earth  is  flat  and  that  the  stars  could  drop  on  it  from 
heaven  like  hailstones.  Christianity  interests  practical 
statesmen  now  because  of  the  doctrines  that  distinguished 
Christ  from  the  Jews  and  the  Barabbasques  generally, 
including  ourselves. 

Why  Jesus  more  than  Another  ? 

I  do  not  imply,  however,  that  these  doctrines  were 
peculiar  to  Christ.  A  doctrine  peculiar  to  one  man  would 
be  only  a  craze,  unless  its  comprehension  depended  on  a 
development  of  human  faculty  so  rare  that  only  one  ex- 
ceptionally gifted  man  possessed  it.  But  even  in  this 
case  it  would  be  useless,  because  incapable  of  spreading. 
Christianity  is  a  step  in  moral  evolution  which  is  inde- 
pendent of  any  individual  preacher.  If  Jesus  had  never 
existed  (and  that  he  ever  existed  in  any  other  sense 
than  that  in  which  Shakespear's  Hamlet  existed  has  been 
vigorously  questioned)  Tolstoy  would  have  thought  and 
taught  and  quarrelled  with  the  Greek  Church  all  the 
same.  Their  creed  has  been  fragmentarily  practised  to 
a  considerable  extent  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  laws 
of  all  countries  treat  it,  in  effect,  as  criminal.  Many  of 
its  advocates  have  been  militant  atheists.  But  for  some 
reason  the  imagination  of  white  mankind  has  picked 
out  Jesus  of  Nazareth  as  the  Christ,  and  attributed  all 
the  Christian  doctrines  to  him;  and  as  it  is  the  doctrine' 


xvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

and  not  the  man  that  matters,  and,  as,  besides,  one  sym- 
bol is  as  good  as  another  provided  everyone  attaches  the 
same  meaning  to  it,  I  raise,  for  the  moment,  no  question 
as  to  how  far  the  gospels  are  original,  and  how  far  they 
consist  of  Greek  and  Chinese  interpolations.  The  record 
that  Jesus  said  certain  things  is  not  invalidated  by  a 
demonstration  that  Confucius  said  them  before  him. 
Those  who  claim  a  literal  divine  paternity  for  him  cannot 
be  silenced  by  the  discovery  that  the  same  claim  was  made 
for  Alexander  and  Augustus.  And  I  am  not  just  now 
concerned  with  the  credibility  of  the  gospels  as  records 
of  fact;  for  I  am  not  acting  as  a  detective,  but  turning 
our  modem  lights  on  to  certain  ideas  and  doctrines  in 
them  which  disentangle  themselves  from  the  rest  because 
they  are  flatly  contrary  to  common  practice,  common 
sense,  and  common  belief,  and  yet  have,  in  the  teeth  of 
dogged  incredulity  and  recalcitrance,  produced  an  irre- 
sistible impression  that  Christ,  though  rejected  by  his 
posterity  as  an  unpractical  dreamer,  and  executed  by  his 
contemporaries  as  a  dangerous  anarchist  and  blasphem- 
ous madman,  was  greater  than  his  judges. 

Was  Jesus  a  Coward  ? 

I  know  quite  well  that  this  impression  of  superiority 
is  not  produced  on  everyone,  even  of  those  who  profess 
extreme  susceptibility  to  it.  Setting  aside  the  huge  mass 
of  inculcated  Christ-worship  which  has  no  real  signifi- 
cance because  it  has  no  intelligence,  there  is,  among  peo- 
ple who  are  really  free  to  think  for  themselves  on  the 
subject,  a  great  deal  of  hearty  dislike  of  Jesus  and  of 
contempt  for  his  failure  to  save  himself  and  overcome  his 
enemies  by  personal  bravery  and  cunning  as  Mahomet 
did.  I  have  heard  this  feeling  expressed  far  more  im- 
patiently by  persons  brought  up  in  England  as  Chris- 
tians than  by  Mahometans,  who  are,  like  their  prophet, 


Preface  xvii 

very  civil  to  Jesus,  and  allow  him  a  place  in  their  esteem 
and  veneration  at  least  as  high  as  we  accord  to  John  the 
Baptist.  But  this  British  bulldog  contempt  is  founded 
on  a  com^jlete  misconception  of  his  reasons  for  sub- 
mitting voluntarily  to  an  ordeal  of  torment  and  death. 
The  modern  Secularist  is  often  so  determined  to  regard 
Jesus  as  a  man  like  himself  and  nothing  more,  that  he 
slips  unconsciously  into  the  error  of  assuming  that  Jesus 
shared  that  view.  But  it  is  quite  clear  from  the  New 
Testament  writers  (the  chief  authorities  for  believing 
that  Jesus  ever  existed)  that  Jesus  at  the  time  of  his 
death  believed  himself  to  be  the  Christ,  a  divine  person- 
age. It  is  therefore  absurd  to  criticize  his  conduct  be- 
fore Pilate  as  if  he  were  Colonel  Roosevelt  or  Admiral 
von  Tirpitz  or  even  Mahomet.  Whether  you  accept  his 
belief  in  his  divinity  as  fully  as  Simon  Peter  did,  or  re- 
ject it  as  a  delusion  which  led  him  to  submit  to  torture 
and  sacrifice  his  life  without  resistance  in  the  conviction 
that  he  would  presently  rise  again  in  glory,  you  are 
equally  bound  to  admit  that,  far  from  behaving  like  a 
coward  or  a  sheep,  he  shewed  considerable  physical  for- 
titude in  going  through  a  cruel  ordeal  against  which  he 
could  have  defended  himself  as  effectually  as  he  cleared 
the  moneychangers  out  of  the  temple.  "Gentle  Jesus, 
meek  and  mild"  is  a  snivelling  modern  invention,  with 
no  warrant  in  the  gospels.  St.  Matthew  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  applying  such  adjectives  to  Judas  Mac- 
cabeus as  to  Jesus;  and  even  St.  Luke,  who  makes  Jesus 
I)olite  and  gracious,  does  not  make  him  meek.  The  pic- 
ture of  him  as  an  English  curate  of  the  farcical  comedy 
type,  too  meek  to  fight  a  policeman,  and  everybody's 
butt,  may  be  useful  in  the  nursery  to  soften  children; 
but  tliat  such  a  figure  could  ever  have  become  a  centre 
of  the  world's  attention  is  too  absurd  for  discussion; 
grown  men  and  women  may  speak  kindly  of  a  harmless 
creature  who  utters  amiable  sentiments  and  is  a  helpless 
3 


xviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

nincompoop  when  he  is  called  on  to  defend  them;  but 
they  will  not  follow  him,  nor  do  what  he  tells  them, 
because  they  do  not  wish  to  share  his  defeat  and  disgrace. 

Was  Jesus  a  Martyr  ? 

It  is  important  therefore  that  we  should  clear  our 
minds  of  the  notion  that  Jesus  died,  as  some  of  are  in 
the  habit  of  declaring,  for  his  social  and  political  opin- 
ions. There  have  been  many  martyrs  to  those  opinions; 
but  he  was  not  one  of  them,  nor,  as  his  words  shew,  did 
he  see  any  more  sense  in  martyrdom  than  Galileo  did. 
He  was  executed  by  the  Jews  for  the  blasphemy  of 
claiming  to  be  a  God;  and  Pilate,  to  whom  this  was  a 
mere  piece  of  superstitious  nonsense,  let  them  execute 
him  as  the  cheapest  way  of  keeping  them  quiet,  on  the 
formal  plea  that  he  had  committed  treason  against  Rome 
by  saying  that  he  was  the  King  of  the  Jews.  He  was 
not  falsely  accused,  nor  denied  full  opportunities  of  de- 
fending himself.  The  proceedings  were  quite  straight- 
forward and  regular;  and  Pilate,  to  whom  the  appeal 
lay,  favored  him  and  despised  his  judges,  and  was  evi- 
dently willing  enough  to  be  conciliated.  But  instead  of 
denying  the  charge,  Jesus  repeated  the  offence.  He 
knew  what  he  was  doing:  he  had  alienated  numbers  of  his 
own  disciples  and  been  stoned  in  the  streets  for  doing 
it  before.  He  was  not  lying:  he  believed  literally  what 
he  said.  The  horror  of  the  High  Priest  was  perfectly 
natural:  he  was  a  Primate  confronted  with  a  heterodox 
street  preacher  uttering  what  seemed  to  him  an  appall- 
ing and  impudent  blasphemy.  The  fact  that  the  blas- 
phemy was  to  Jesus  a  simple  statement  of  fact,  and  that 
it  has  since  been  accepted  as  such  by  all  western  nations, 
does  not  invalidate  the  proceedings,  nor  give  us  the  right 
to  regard  Annas  and  Caiaphas  as  worse  men  than  the 
Archbishop    of    Canterbury    and   the    Head    Master   of 


Preface  xix 

Eton.  If  Jesus  had  been  indicted  in  a  modern  court,  he 
would  have  been  examined  by  two  doctors ;  found  to  be 
obsessed  by  a  delusion;  declared  incapable  of  pleading; 
and  sent  to  an  asylum :  that  is  the  whole  difference.  But 
please  note  that  when  a  man  is  charged  before  a  modern 
tribunal  (to  take  a  case  that  happened  the  other  day)  of 
having  asserted  and  maintained  that  he  was  an  officer 
returned  from  the  front  to  receive  the  Victoria  Cross  at 
the  hands  of  the  King,  although  he  was  in  fact  a  me- 
chanic, nobody  thinks  of  treating  him  as  afflicted  with  a 
delusion.  He  is  punished  for  false  pretences,  because 
his  assertion  is  credible  and  therefore  misleading.  Just 
so,  the  claim  to  divinity  made  by  Jesus  was  to  the  High 
Priest,  who  looked  forward  to  the  coming  of  a  Messiah, 
one  that  might  conceivably  have  been  true,  and  might 
therefore  have  misled  the  people  in  a  very  dangerous 
way.  That  was  why  he  treated  Jesus  as  an  imposter 
and  a  blasphemer  where  we  should  have  treated  him  as  a 
madman. 

The  Gospels  without  Prejudice. 

All  this  will  become  clear  if  we  read  the  gospels  with- 
out prejudice.  When  I  was  young  it  was  impossible  to 
read  them  without  fantastic  confusion  of  thought.  The 
confusion  was  so  utterly  confounded  that  it  was  called 
the  proper  spirit  to  read  the  Bible  in.  Jesus  was  a 
baby;  and  he  was  older  than  creation.  He  was  a  man 
who  could  be  persecuted,  stoned,  scourged,  and  killed; 
and  he  was  a  god,  immortal  and  all-powerful,  able  to 
raise  the  dead  and  call  millions  of  angels  to  his  aid. 
It  was  a  sin  to  doubt  either  view  of  him:  that  is,  it  was 
a  sin  to  reason  about  him ;  and  the  end  was  that  you  did 
not  reason  about  him,  and  read  about  him  only  when  you 
were  compelled.  When  you  heard  the  gospel  stories 
read  in  church,  or  learnt  them  from  painters  and  poets, 


XX  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

you  came  out  with  an  impression  of  their  contents  that 
would  have  astonished  a  Chinaman  who  had  read  the 
story  without  prepossession.  Even  sceptics  who  were 
specially  on  their  guard,  put  the  Bible  in  the  dock,  and 
read  the  gospels  with  the  object  of  detecting  discrep- 
ancies in  the  four  narratives  to  shew  that  the  writers 
were  as  subject  to  error  as  the  writers  of  yesterday's 
newspaper. 

All  this  has  changed  greatly  within  two  generations. 
Today  the  Bible  is  so  little  read  that  the  language  of  the 
Authorized  Version  is  rapidly  becoming  obsolete;  so  that 
even  in  the  United  States,  where  the  old  tradition  of  the 
verbal  infallibility  of  "the  book  of  books"  lingers  more 
strongly  than  anywhere  else  except  perhaps  in  Ulster, 
retranslations  into  modern  English  have  been  introduced 
perforce  to  save  its  bare  intelligibility.  It  is  quite  easy 
today  to  find  cultivated  persons  who  have  never  read  the 
New  Testament,  and  on  whom  therefore  it  is  possible  to 
try  the  experiment  of  asking  them  to  read  the  gospels 
and  state  what  they  have  gathered  as  to  the  history  and 
views  and  character  of  Christ. 

The  Gospels  now  unintelligible  to  Novices. 

But  it  will  not  do  to  read  the  gospels  with  a  mind 
furnished  only  for  the  reception  of,  say,  a  biography  of 
Goethe.  You  will  not  make  sense  of  them,  nor  even  be 
able  without  impatient  weariness  to  persevere  in  the  task 
of  going  steadily  through  them,  unless  you  know  some- 
thing of  the  history  of  the  human  imagination  as  applied 
to  religion.  Not  long  ago  I  asked  a  writer  of  dis- 
tinguished intellectual  competence  whether  he  had  made  a 
study  of  the  gospels  since  his  childhood.  His  reply  was 
that  he  had  lately  tried,  but  "found  it  all  such  nonsense 
that  I  could  not  stick  it."  As  I  do  not  want  to  send  any- 
one to  the  gospels  with  this  result,  I  had  better  here  give 


Preface  xxi 

a  brief  exposition  of  how  much  of  the  history  of  religion 
is  needed  to  make  the  gospels  and  the  conduct  and  ulti- 
mate fate  of  Jesus  intelligible  and  interesting, 

Worldliness  of  the  Majority. 

The  first  common  mistake  to  get  rid  of  is  that  man- 
kind consists  of  a  great  mass  of  religious  people  and  a 
few  eccentric  atheists.  It  consists  of  a  huge  mass  of 
worldly  people,  and  a  small  percentage  of  persons  deep- 
ly interested  in  religion  and  concerned  about  their  own 
souls  and  other  peoples' ;  and  this  section  consists  mostly 
of  those  who  are  passionately  affirming  the  established 
religion  and  those  who  are  passionately  attacking  it,  the 
genuine  philosophers  being  very  few.  Thus  you  never 
have  a  nation  of  millions  of  Wesleys  and  one  Tom  Paine. 
You  have  a  million  Mr.  Worldly  Wisemans,  one  Wesley, 
with  his  small  congregation,  and  one  Tom  Paine,  with 
his  smaller  congregation.  The  passionately  religious  are 
a  people  apart;  and  if  they  were  not  hopelessly  outnum- 
bered by  the  worldly,  they  would  turn  the  world  upside 
down,  as  St.  Paul  was  reproached,  quite  justly,  for 
wanting  to  do.  Few  people  can  number  among  their 
personal  acquaintances  a  single  atheist  or  a  single 
Plymouth  Brother.  Unless  a  religious  turn  in  ourselves 
has  led  us  to  seek  the  little  Societies  to  which  these  rare 
birds  belong,  we  pass  our  lives  among  people  who,  what- 
ever creeds  they  may  repeat,  and  in  whatever  temples 
they  may  avouch  their  respectability  and  wear  their  Sun- 
day clothes,  have  robust  consciences,  and  hunger  and 
thirst,  not  for  righteousness,  but  for  rich  feeding  and 
comfort  and  social  position  and  attractive  mates  and  ease 
and  pleasure  and  respect  and  consideration :  in  short,  for 
love  and  money.  To  these  people  one  morality  is  as 
good  as  another  provided  they  are  used  to  it  and  can  put 
up  with  its  restrictions  without  unhappiness;  and  in  the 


xxii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

maintenance  of  this  morality  they  will  fight  and  punish 
and  coerce  without  scruple.  They  may  not  be  the  salt 
of  the  earthj  these  Philistines;  but  they  are  the  sub- 
stance of  civilization ;  and  they  save  society  from  ruin  by 
criminals  and  conquerors  as  well  as  by  Savonarolas  and 
Knipperdollings.  And  as  they  know^  very  sensibly,  that 
a  little  religion  is  good  for  children  and  serves  morality, 
keeping  the  poor  in  good  humor  or  in  awe  by  promising 
rewards  in  heaven  or  threatening  torments  in  hell,  they 
encourage  the  religious  people  up  to  a  certain  point:  for 
instance,  if  Savonarola  only  tells  the  ladies  of  Florence 
that  they  ought  to  tear  off  their  jewels  and  finery  and 
sacrifice  them  to  God,  they  offer  him  a  cardinal's  hat, 
and  praise  him  as  a  saint;  but  if  he  induces  them  to 
actually  do  it,  they  burn  him  as  a  public  nuisance. 

Religion  of  the  Minority.     Salvationism. 

The  religion  of  the  tolerated  religious  minority  has 
always  been  essentially  the  same  religion :  that  is  why  its 
changes  of  name  and  form  have  made  so  little  difference. 
That  is  why,  also,  a  nation  so  civilized  as  the  English 
can  convert  negroes  to  their  faith  with  great  ease,  but 
cannot  convert  Mahometans  or  Jews.  The  negro  finds 
in  civilized  Salvationism  an  unspeakably  more  comfort- 
ing version  of  his  crude  creed ;  but  neither  Saracen  nor 
Jew  sees  any  advantage  in  it  over  his  own  version.  The 
Crusader  was  surprised  to  find  the  Saracen  quite  as  re- 
ligious and  moral  as  himself,  and  rather  more  than  less 
civilized.  The  Latin  Christian  has  nothing  to  offer  the 
Greek  Christian  that  Greek  Christianity  has  not  already 
provided.     They  are  all,  at  root,  Salvationists. 

Let  us  trace  this  religion  of  Salvation  from  its  begin- 
nings. So  many  things  that  man  does  not  himself  con- 
trive or  desire  are  always  happening:  death,  plagues, 
tempests,  blights,  floods,  sunrise  and  sunset,  growths  and 


Preface  xxiii 

harvests  and  decay,  and  Kant's  two  wonders  of  the 
starry  heavens  above  us  and  the  moral  law  within  us, 
that  we  conclude  that  somebody  must  be  doing  it  all,  or 
that  somebody  is  doing  the  good  and  somebody  else 
doing  the  evil,  or  that  armies  of  invisible  persons,  benef- 
icent and  malevolent,  are  doing  it;  hence  you  postulate 
gods  and  devils,  angels  and  demons.  You  propitiate 
these  powers  with  presents,  called  sacrifices,  and  flat- 
teries, called  praises.  Then  the  Kantian  moral  law  within 
you  makes  you  conceive  your  god  as  a  judge;  and 
straightway  you  try  to  corrupt  him,  also  with  presents 
and  flatteries.  This  seems  shocking  to  us ;  but  our  ob- 
jection to  it  is  quite  a  recent  development:  no  longer  ago 
than  Shakespear's  time  it  was  thought  quite  natural  that 
litigants  should  give  presents  to  human  judges;  and  the 
buying  off  of  divine  wrath  by  actual  money  payments  to 
priests,  or,  in  the  reformed  churches  which  discounten- 
ance this,  by  subscriptions  to  charities  and  church  build- 
ing and  the  like,  is  still  in  full  swing.  Its  practical  dis- 
advantage is  that  though  it  makes  matters  very  easy  for 
the  rich,  it  cuts  off  the  poor  from  all  hope  of  divine 
favor.  And  this  quickens  the  moral  criticism  of  the  poor 
to  such  an  extent,  that  they  soon  find  the  moral  law  with- 
in them  revolting  against  the  idea  of  buying  off  the  deity 
with  gold  and  gifts,  though  they  are  still  quite  ready  to 
buy  him  off  with  the  paper  money  of  praise  and  pro- 
fessions of  repentance.  Accordingly,  you  will  find  that 
though  a  religion  may  last  unchanged  for  many  cen- 
turies in  primitive  communities  where  the  conditions  of 
life  leave  no  room  for  poverty  and  riches,  and  the  process 
of  propitiating  the  supernatural  powers  is  as  well  within 
the  means  of  the  least  of  the  members  as  within  those  of 
the  headman,  yet  when  commercial  civilization  arrives, 
and  capitalism  divides  the  people  into  a  few  rich  and  a 
great  many  so  poor  that  they  can  barely  live,  a  move- 
ment for  religious  reform  will  arise  among  the  poor,  and 


xxiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

will   be   essentially   a   movement   for   cheap   or   entirely 
gratuitous  salvation. 

To  understand  what  the  poor  mean  by  propitiation,  we 
must  examine  for  a  moment  what  they  mean  by  justice. 


The  Difference  between  Atonement  and 
Punishment. 

The  primitive  idea  of  justice  is  partly  legalized  re- 
venge and  partly  expiation  by  sacrifice.  It  works  out 
from  both  sides  in  the  notion  that  two  blacks  make  a 
white,  and  that  when  a  wrong  has  been  done,  it  should 
be  paid  for  by  an  equivalent  suffering.  It  seems  to  the 
Philistine  majority  a  matter  of  course  that  this  compen- 
sating suffering  should  be  inflicted  on  the  wrongdoer  for 
the  sake  of  its  deterrent  effect  on  other  would-be  wrong- 
doers ;  but  a  moment's  reflection  will  shew  that  this  utili- 
tarian application  corrupts  the  whole  transaction.  For 
example,  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood  cannot  be  bal- 
anced by  the  shedding  of  guilty  blood.  Sacrificing  a 
criminal  to  propitiate  God  for  the  murder  of  one  of  his 
righteous  servants  is  like  sacrificing  a  mangy  sheep  or 
an  ox  with  the  rinderpest:  it  calls  down  divine  wrath  in- 
stead of  appeasing  it.  In  doing  it  we  offer  God  as  a  sac- 
rifice the  gratification  of  our  own  revenge  and  the  pro- 
tection of  our  own  lives  without  cost  to  ourselves;  and 
cost  to  ourselves  is  the  essence  of  sacrifice  and  expiation. 
However  much  the  Philistines  have  succeeded  in  confus- 
ing these  things  in  practice,  they  are  to  the  Salvationist 
sense  distinct  and  even  contrary.  The  Baronet's  cousin 
in  Dickens's  novel,  who,  perplexed  by  the  failure  of  the 
police  to  discover  the  murderer  of  the  baronet's  solicitor, 
said  "Far  better  hang  wrong  fellow  than  no  fellow,"  was 
not  only  expressing  a  very  common  sentiment,  but  trem- 
bling on  the  brink  of  the  rarer  Salvationist  opinion  that 


Preface  xxv 

it  is  much  better  to  hang  the  wrong  fellow:  that,  in  fact, 
the  wrong  fellow  is  the  right  fellow  to  hang. 

The  point  is  a  cardinal  one,  because  until  we  grasp  it 
not  only  does  historical  Christianity  remain  unintelligible 
to  us,  but  those  who  do  not  care  a  rap  about  historical 
Christianity  may  be  led  into  the  mistake  of  supposing 
that  if  we  discard  revenge,  and  treat  murderers  exactly 
as  God  treated  Cain:  that  is,  exempt  them  from  punish- 
ment by  putting  a  brand  on  them  as  unworthy  to  be  sac- 
rificed, and  let  them  face  the  world  as  best  they  can  with 
that  brand  on  them,  we  should  get  rid  both  of  punish- 
ment and  sacrifice.  It  would  not  at  all  follow :  on  the  con- 
trary, the  feeling  that  there  must  be  an  expiation  of  the 
murder  might  quite  possibly  lead  to  our  putting  some  in- 
nocent person — the  more  innocent  the  better — to  a  cruel 
death  to  balance  the  account  with  divine  justice. 

Salvation  at  first  a  Class  Privilege; 
and  the  Remedy. 

Thus,  even  when  the  poor  decide  that  the  method  of 
purchasing  salvation  by  offering  rams  and  goats  or 
bringing  gold  to  the  altar  must  be  wrong  because  they 
cannot  afford  it,  we  still  do  not  feel  "saved"  without  a 
sacrifice  and  a  victim.  In  vain  do  we  try  to  substitute 
mystical  rites  that  cost  nothing,  such  as  circumcision,  or, 
as  a  substitute  for  that,  baptism.  Our  sense  of  justice 
still  demands  an  expiation,  a  sacrifice,  a  sufferer  for  our 
sins.  And  this  leaves  the  poor  man  still  in  his  old  dif- 
ficulty; for  if  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  procure  rams 
and  goats  and  shekels,  how  much  more  impossible  is  it 
for  him  to  find  a  neighbor  who  will  voluntarily  suffer  for 
his  sins:  one  who  will  say  cheerfully  "You  have  com- 
mitted a  murder.  Well,  never  mind:  I  am  willing  to  be 
hanged  for  it  in  your  stead?" 


xxvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Our  imagination  must  come  to  our  rescue.  Why  not, 
instead  of  driving  ourselves  to  despair  by  insisting  on 
a  separate  atonement  by  a  separate  redeemer  for  every 
sin,  have  one  great  atonement  and  one  great  redeemer  to 
compound  for  the  sins  of  the  world  once  for  all?  Noth- 
ing easier,  nothing  cheaper.  The  yoke  is  easy,  the  bur- 
den light.  All  you  have  to  do  when  the  redeemer  is  once 
found  (or  invented  by  the  imagination)  is  to  believe  in 
the  efficacy  of  the  transaction,  and  you  are  saved.  The 
rams  and  goats  cease  to  bleed;  the  altars  which  ask  for 
expensive  gifts  and  continually  renewed  sacrifices  are 
torn  down;  and  the  Church  of  the  single  redeemer  and 
the  single  atonement  rises  on  the  ruins  of  the  old 
temples,  and  becomes  a  single  Church  of  the  Christ. 


Retrospective  Atonement;  and  the 
Expectation  of  the  Redeemer. 

But  this  does  not  happen  at  once.  Between  the  old 
costly  religion  of  the  rich  and  the  new  gratuitous  religion 
of  the  poor  there  comes  an  interregnum  in  which  the 
redeemer,  though  conceived  by  the  human  imagination, 
is  not  yet  found.  He  is  awaited  and  expected  under 
the  names  of  the  Christ,  the  Messiah,  Baldur  the  Beauti- 
ful, or  what  not;  but  he  has  not  yet  come.  Yet  the  sin- 
ners are  not  therefore  in  despair.  It  is  true  that  they 
cannot  say,  as  we  say,  "The  Christ  has  come,  and  has 
redeemed  us;"  but  they  can  say  "The  Christ  will  come, 
and  will  redeem  us,"  which,  as  the  atonement  is  con- 
ceived as  retrospective,  is  equally  consoling.  There  are 
periods  when  nations  are  seething  with  this  expectation 
and  crying  aloud  with  prophecy  of  the  Redeemer  through 
their  poets.  To  feel  that  atmosphere  we  have  only  to 
take  up  the  Bible  and  read  Isaiah  at  one  end  of  such  a 
period  and  Luke  and  John  at  the  other. 


Preface  xxvii 

Completion  of  the  Scheme  by  Luther  and 
Calvin. 

We  now  see  our  religion  as  a  quaint  but  quite  intelligi- 
ble evolution  from  crude  attempts  to  propitiate  the  de- 
structive forces  of  Nature  among  savages  to  a  subtle  the- 
ology with  a  costly  ritual  of  sacrifice  possible  only  to  the 
rich  as  a  luxury,  and  finally  to  the  religion  of  Luther  and 
Calvin,  And  it  must  be  said  for  the  earlier  forms  that 
they  involved  very  real  sacrifices.  The  sacrifice  was  not 
always  vicarious,  and  is  not  yet  universally  so.  In  India 
men  pay  with  their  own  skins,  torturing  themselves  hide- 
ously to  attain  holiness.  In  the  west,  saints  amazed  the 
world  with  their  austerities  and  self-scourgings  and  con- 
fessions and  vigils.  But  Luther  delivered  us  from  all 
that.  His  reformation  was  a  triumph  of  imagination 
and  a  triumph  of  cheapness.  It  brought  you  complete 
salvation  and  asked  you  for  nothing  but  faith.  Luther 
did  not  know  what  he  was  doing  in  the  scientific  socio- 
logical way  in  which  we  know  it;  but  his  instinct  served 
him  better  than  knowledge  could  have  done;  for  it  was 
instinct  rather  than  theological  casuistry  that  made  him 
hold  so  resolutely  to  Justification  by  Faith  as  the  trump 
card  by  which  he  should  beat  the  Pope,  or,  as  he  would 
have  put  it,  the  sign  in  which  he  should  conquer.  He 
may  be  said  to  have  abolished  the  charge  for  admission 
to  heaven.  Paul  had  advocated  this ;  but  Luther  and 
Calvin  did  it. 

John  Barleycorn 

There  is  yet  another  page  in  the  history  of  religion 
which  must  be  conned  and  digested  before  the  career  of 
Jesus  can  be  fully  understood.  People  who  can  read 
long  books  will  find  it  in  Frazer's  Golden  Bough.  Sim- 
pler folk  will  find  it  in  the  peasant's  song  of  John  Bar- 


xxviii         Androcles  and  the  Lion 

leycorn,  now  made  accessible  to  our  drawingroom 
amateurs  in  the  admirable  collections  of  Somersetshire 
Folk  Songs  by  JNIr.  Cecil  Sharp.  From  Frazer's  mag- 
num opus  you  will  learn  how  the  same  primitive  logic 
which  makes  the  Englishman  believe  today  that  by  eating 
a  beefsteak  he  can  acquire  the  strength  and  courage  of 
the  bull,  and  to  hold  that  belief  in  the  face  of  the  most 
ignominious  defeats  by  vegetarian  wrestlers  and  racers 
and  bicyclists,  led  the  first  men  who  conceived  God  as 
capable  of  incarnation  to  believe  that  they  could  acquire 
a  spark  of  his  divinity  by  eating  his  flesh  and  drinking 
his  blood.  And  from  the  song  of  John  Barleycorn  you 
may  learn  how  the  miracle  of  the  seed,  the  growth,  and 
the  harvest,  still  the  most  wonderful  of  all  the  miracles 
and  as  inexplicable  as  ever,  taught  the  primitive  hus- 
bandman, and,  as  we  must  noAV  affirm,  taught  him  quite 
rightly,  that  God  is  in  the  seed,  and  that  God  is  im- 
mortal. And  thus  it  became  the  test  of  Godhead  that 
nothing  that  you  could  do  to  it  could  kill  it,  and  that 
when  you  buried  it,  it  would  rise  again  in  renewed  life 
and  beauty  and  give  mankind  eternal  life  on  condition 
that  it  was  eaten  and  drunk,  and  again  slain  and  buried, 
to  rise  again  for  ever  and  ever.  You  may,  and  indeed 
must,  use  John  Barleycorn  "right  barbarouslee,"  cutting 
him  "off  at  knee"  with  your  scythes,  scourging  him  with 
your  flails,  burying  him  in  the  earth;  and  he  will  not  re- 
sist you  nor  reproach  you,  but  will  rise  again  in  golden 
beauty  amidst  a  great  burst  of  sunshine  and  bird  music, 
and  save  you  and  renew  your  life.  And  from  the  inter- 
weaving of  these  two  traditions  with  the  craving  for  the 
Redeemer,  you  at  last  get  the  conviction  that  when  the 
Redeemer  comes  he  will  be  immortal;  he  will  give  us  his 
body  to  eat  and  his  blood  to  drink ;  and  he  will  prove  his 
divinity  by  suffering  a  barbarous  death  without  resist- 
ance or  reproach,  and  rise  from  the  dead  and  return  to 
the  earth  in  glory  as  the  giver  of  life  eternal. 


Preface  xxix 

Looking  for  the  End  of  the  World. 

Yet  another  persistent  belief  has  beset  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  religious  ever  since  religion  spread  among 
the  poor,  or,  rather,  ever  since  commercial  civilization 
produced  a  hopelessly  poor  class  cut  off  from  enjoyment 
in  this  world.  That  belief  is  that  the  end  of  this  world 
is  at  hand,  and  that  it  will  presently  pass  away  and  be 
replaced  by  a  kingdom  of  happiness,  justice,  and  bliss 
in  which  the  rich  and  the  oppressors  and  the  unjust  shall 
have  no  share.  We  are  all  familiar  with  this  expecta- 
tion: many  of  us  cherish  some  pious  relative  who  sees 
in  every  great  calamity  a  sign  of  the  approaching  end. 
Warning  pamphlets  are  in  constant  circulation:  adver- 
tisements are  put  in  the  papers  and  paid  for  by  those 
who  are  convinced,  and  who  are  horrified  at  the  indiffer- 
ence of  the  irreligious  to  the  approaching  doom.  And 
revivalist  preachers,  now  as  in  the  days  of  John  the 
Baptist,  seldom  fail  to  warn  their  flocks  to  watch  and 
pray,  as  the  great  day  will  steal  upon  them  like  a  thief 
in  the  night,  and  cannot  be  long  deferred  in  a  world  so 
wicked.  This  belief  also  associates  itself  with  Barley- 
corn's second  coming;  so  that  the  two  events  become 
identified  at  last. 

There  is  the  other  and  more  artificial  side  of  this  be- 
lief, on  which  it  is  an  inculcated  dread.  The  ruler  who 
appeals  to  the  prospect  of  heaven  to  console  the  poor  and 
keep  them  from  insurrection  also  curbs  the  vicious  by 
threatening  them  with  hell.  In  the  Koran  we  find  Ma- 
homet driven  more  and  more  to  this  expedient  of  govern- 
ment; and  experience  confirms  his  evident  belief  that  it 
is  impossible  to  govern  without  it  in  certain  phases  of 
civilization.  We  shall  see  later  on  that  it  gives  a  power- 
ful attraction  to  the  belief  in  a  Redeemer,  since  it  adds 
to  remorse  of  conscience,  which  hardened  men  bear  very 
lightly,  a  definite  dread  of  hideous  and  eternal  torture. 


/ 


XXX  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

The  Honor  of  Divine  Parentage. 

One  more  tradition  must  be  noted.  The  consummation 
of  praise  for  a  king'  is  to  declare  that  he  is  the  son  of  no 
earthly  father,  but  of  a  god.  His  mother  goes  into  the 
temple  of  Apollo,  and  Apollo  comes  to  her  in  the  shape 
of  a  serpent,  or  the  like.  The  Roman  emperors,  follow- 
ing the  example  of  Augustus,  claimed  the  title  of  God. 
Illogically,  such  divine  kings  insist  a  good  deal  on  their 
royal  human  ancestors.  Alexander,  claiming  to  be  the 
son  of  Apollo,  is  equally  determined  to  be  the  son  of 
Philip.  As  the  gospels  stand,  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke 
give  genealogies  (the  two  are  different)  establishing 
the  descent  of  Jesus  through  Joseph  from  the  royal 
house  of  David,  and  yet  declare  that  not  Joseph  but  the 
Holy  Ghost  was  the  father  of  Jesus.  It  is  therefore  now 
held  that  the  story  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  a  later  inter- 
polation borrowed  from  the  Gi'eek  and  Roman  imperial 
tradition.  But  experience  shews  that  simultaneous  faith 
in  the  descent  from  David  and  the  conception  by  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  possible.  Such  double  beliefs  are  enter- 
tained by  the  human  mind  without  uneasiness  or  con- 
sciousness of  the  contradiction  involved.  Many  instances 
might  be  given:  a  familiar  one  to  my  generation  being 
that  of  the  Tichborne  claimant,  whose  attempt  to  pass 
himself  off  as  a  baronet  was  supported  by  an  association 
of  laborers  on  the  ground  that  the  Tichborne  family,  in 
resisting  it,  were  trying  to  do  a  laborer  out  of  his  rights. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  Matthew  and  Luke  may  have 
been  unconscious  of  the  contradiction:  indeed  the  inter- 
polation theory  does  not  remove  the  difficulty,  as  the  in- 
terpolators themselves  must  have  been  unconscious  of  it. 
A  better  ground  for  suspecting  interpolation  is  that  St. 
Paul  knew  nothing  of  the  divine  birth,  and  taught  that 
Jesus  came  into  the  world  at  his  birth  as  the  son  of 
Joseph,  but  rose  from  the  dead  after  three  days  as  the 


Preface  xxxi 

son  of  God.  Here  again,  few  notice  the  discrepancy: 
the  three  views  are  accepted  simultaneously  without  in- 
tellectual discomfort.  We  can  provisionally  entertain 
half  a  dozen  contradictory  versions  of  an  event  if  we 
feel  either  that  it  does  not  greatly  matter,  or  that  there  / 

is  a  category  attainable  in  which  the  contradictions  are  ' 

reconciled. 

But  that  is  not  the  present  point.  All  that  need  be 
noted  here  is  that  the  legend  of  divine  birth  was  sure  to 
be  attached  sooner  or  later  to  very  eminent  persons  in 
Roman  imperial  times,  and  that  modern  theologians,  far 
from  discrediting  it,  have  very  logically  affirmed  the 
miraculous  conception  not  only  of  Jesus  but  of  his 
mother. 


With  no  more  scholarly  equipment  than  a  knowledge  of 
these  habits  of  the  human  imagination,  anyone  may  now 
read  the  four  gospels  without  bewilderment,  and  with- 
out the  contemptuous  incredulity  which  spoils  the  tem- 
per of  many  modern  atheists,  or  the  senseless  credulity 
which  sometimes  makes  pious  people  force  us  to  shove 
them  aside  in  emergencies  as  impracticable  lunatics  when 
they  ask  us  to  meet  violence  and  injustice  with  dumb 
submission  in  the  belief  that  the  strange  demeanor  of 
Jesus  before  Pilate  was  meant  as  an  example  of  normal 
human  conduct.  Let  us  admit  that  without  the  proper 
clues  the  gospels  are,  to  a  modern  educated  person,  non- 
sensical and  incredible,  whilst  the  apostles  are  unread- 
able. But  with  the  clues,  they  are  fairly  plain  sailing. 
Jesus  becomes  an  intelligible  and  consistent  person.  His 
reasons  for  going  "like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter"  instead 
of  saving  himself  as  Mahomet  did,  become  quite  clear. 
The  narrative  becomes  as  credible  as  any  other  historical 
narrative  of  its  period. 


xxxii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

MATTHEW. 

The  Annunciation:  the  Massacre: 
the  FHght. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  gospel  of  Matthew,  bearing  in 
mind  that  it  does  not  profess  to  be  the  evidence  of  an  eye- 
witness. It  is  a  chronicle,  founded,  like  other  chronicles, 
on  such  evidence  and  records  as  the  chronicler  could  get 
hold  of.  The  only  one  of  the  evangelists  who  professes 
to  give  first-hand  evidence  as  an  eyewitness  naturally 
takes  care  to  say  so ;  and  the  fact  that  Matthew  makes  no 
such  pretension,  and  writes  throughout  as  a  chronicler, 
makes  it  clear  that  he  is  telling  the  story  of  Jesus  as 
Holinshed  told  the  story  of  Macbeth,  except  that,  for  a 
reason  to  be  given  later  on,  he  must  have  collected  his 
material  and  completed  his  book  within  the  lifetime  of 
persons  contemporary  with  Jesus.  Allowance  must  also 
be  made  for  the  fact  that  the  gospel  is  written  in  the 
Greek  language,  whilst  the  first-hand  traditions  and  the 
actual  utterances  of  Jesus  must  have  been  in  Aramaic, 
the  dialect  of  Palestine.  These  distinctions  were  im- 
portant, as  you  will  find  if  you  read  Holinshed  or  Frois- 
sart  and  then  read  Benvenuto  Cellini.  You  do  not  blame 
Holinshed  or  Froissart  for  believing  and  repeating  the 
things  they  had  read  or  been  told,  though  you  cannot 
always  believe  these  things  yourself.  But  when  Cellini 
tells  you  that  he  saw  this  or  did  that,  and  you  find  it 
impossible  to  believe  him,  you  lose  patience  with  him, 
and  are  disposed  to  doubt  everything  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy. Do  not  forget,  then,  that  Matthew  is  Holinshed 
and  not  Benvenuto.  The  very  first  pages  of  his  narra- 
tive will  put  your  attitude  to  the  test. 

Matthew  tells  us  that  the  mother  of  Jesus  was  be- 
trothed to  a  man  of  royal  pedigree  named  Joseph,  who 
was  rich  enough  to  live  in  a  house  in  Bethlehem  to  which 


Preface  xxxiii 

kings  could  bring  gifts  of  gold  without  provoking  any 
comment.  An  angel  announces  to  Joseph  that  Jesus  is 
the  son  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  that  he  must  not  accuse 
her  of  infidelity  because  of  her  bearing  a  son  of  which 
he  is  not  the  father;  but  this  episode  disappears  from 
the  subsequent  narrative:  there  is  no  record  of  its  hav- 
ing been  told  to  Jesus,  nor  any  indication  of  his  having 
any  knowledge  of  it.  The  narrative,  in  fact,  proceeds  in 
all  respects  as  if  the  annunciation  formed  no  part  of  it. 
Herod  the  Tetrarch,  believing  that  a  child  has  been 
born  who  will  destroy  him,  orders  all  the  male  children 
to  be  slaughtered;  and  Jesus  escapes  by  the  flight  of  his 
parents  into  Egypt,  whence  they  return  to  Nazareth 
when  the  danger  is  over.  Here  it  is  necessary  to  antici- 
pate a  little  by  saying  that  none  of  the  other  evangelists 
accept  this  story,  as  none  of  them  except  John,  who 
throws  over  Matthew  altogether,  shares  his  craze  for 
treating  history  and  biography  as  mere  records  of  the 
fulfillment  of  ancient  Jewish  prophecies.  This  craze 
no  doubt  led  him  to  seek  for  some  legend  bearing  out 
Hosea's  "Out  of  Egypt  have  I  called  my  son,"  and 
Jeremiah's  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children :  in  fact,  he 
says  so.  Nothing  that  interests  us  nowadaj'^s  turns  on 
the  credibility  of  the  massacre  of  the  innocents  and  the 
flight  into  Egypt.  We  may  forget  them,  and  proceed  to 
the  important  part  of  the  narrative,  which  skips  at  once 
to  the  manhood  of  Jesus. 

John  the  Baptist. 

At  this  moment,  a  Salvationist  prophet  named  John  is 
stirring  the  people  very  strongly.  John  has  declared 
that  the  rite  of  circumcision  is  insufficient  as  a  dedication 
of  the  individual  to  God,  and  has  substituted  the  rite  of 
baptism.  To  us,  who  are  accustomed  to  baptism  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  to  whom  circumcision  is  a  rather 
3 


xxxiv         Androcles  and  the  Lion 

ridiculous  foreign  practice  of  no  consequence^  the  sensa- 
tional effect  of  such  a  heresy  as  this  on  the  Jews  is  not 
apparent:  it  seems  to  us  as  natural  that  John  should 
have  baptized  people  as  that  the  rector  of  our  village 
should  do  so.  But,  as  St.  Paul  found  to  his  cost  later  on, 
the  discarding  of  circumcision  for  baptism  was  to  the 
Jews  as  startling  a  heresy  as  the  discarding  of  transub- 
stantiation  in  the  Mass  was  to  the  Catholics  of  the  XVI 
century. 

Jesus  joins  the  Baptists. 

Jesus  entered  as  a  man  of  thirty  (Luke  says)  into  the 
religious  life  of  his  time  by  going  to  John  the  Baptist 
and  demanding  baptism  from  him,  much  as  certain  well- 
to-do  young  gentlemen  forty  years  ago  "joined  the 
Socialists."  As  far  as  established  Jewry  was  concerned, 
he  burnt  his  boats  by  this  action,  and  cut  himself  off 
from  the  routine  of  wealth,  respectability,  and  orthodoxy. 
He  then  began  preaching  John's  gospel,  which,  apart 
from  the  heresy  of  baptism,  the  value  of  which  lay  in  its 
bringing  the  Gentiles  (that  is,  the  uncircumcized)  within 
the  pale  of  salvation,  was  a  call  to  the  people  to  repent 
of  their  sins,  as  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  at  hand. 
Luke  adds  that  he  also  preached  the  communism  of 
charity;  told  the  surveyors  of  taxes  not  to  over-assess 
the  taxpayers ;  and  advised  soldiers  to  be  content  with 
their  wages  and  not  to  be  violent  or  lay  false  accusations. 
There  is  no  record  of  John  going  beyond  this. 

The  Savage  John  and  the  Civihzed 


"& 


Jesus. 


Jesus  went  beyond  it  very  rapidly,  according  to  Mat- 
thew. Though,  like  John,  he  became  an  itinerant 
preacher,  he  departed  widely  from  John's  manner  of  life. 


Preface  xxxv 

John  went  into  the  wilderness,  not  into  the  synagogues; 
and  his  baptismal  font  was  the  river  Jordan.  He  was  an 
ascetic,  clothed  in  skins  and  living  on  locusts  and  wild 
honey,  practising  a  savage  austerity.  He  courted  mar- 
tyrdom, and  met  it  at  the  hands  of  Herod.  Jesus  saw  no 
merit  either  in  asceticism  or  martyrdom.  In  contrast  to 
John  he  was  essentially  a  highly-civilized,  cultivated 
person.  According  to  Luke,  he  pointed  out  the  contrast 
himself,  chaffing  the  Jews  for  complaining  that  John 
must  be  possessed  by  the  devil  because  he  was  a  tee- 
totaller and  vegetarian,  whilst,  because  Jesus  was  neither 
one  nor  the  other,  they  reviled  him  as  a  gluttonous  man 
and  a  winebibber,  the  friend  of  the  officials  and  their 
mistresses.  He  told  straitlaced  disciples  that  they  Avould 
have  trouble  enough  from  other  people  without  making 
any  for  themselves,  and  that  they  should  avoid  martyr- 
dom and  enjoy  themselves  whilst  they  had  the  chance. 
"When  they  persecute  you  in  this  city,"  he  says,  "flee 
into  the  next."  He  preaches  in  the  synagogues  and  in 
the  open  air  indifferently,  just  as  they  come.  He  re- 
peatedly says,  "I  desire  mercy  and  not  sacrifice,"  mean- 
ing evidently  to  clear  himself  of  the  inveterate  sujDersti- 
tion  that  suffering  is  gratifying  to  God.  "Be  not,  as  the 
Pharisees,  of  a  sad  countenance,"  he  says.  He  is  con- 
vivial, feasting  with  Roman  officials  and  sinners.  He  is 
careless  of  his  person,  and  is  remonstrated  with  for  not 
washing  his  hands  before  sitting  down  to  table.  The 
followers  of  Jolm  the  Baptist,  who  fast,  and  who  expect 
to  find  the  Christians  greater  ascetics  than  themselves, 
are  disappointed  at  finding  that  Jesus  and  his  twelve 
friends  do  not  fast ;  and  Jesus  tells  them  that  they  should 
rejoice  in  him  instead  of  being  melancholy.  He  is  jocu- 
lar and  tells  them  they  will  all  have  as  much  fasting  as 
they  want  soon  enough,  whether  they  like  it  or  not.  He 
is  not  afraid  of  disease,  and  dines  with  a  leper.  A 
woman,    apparently    to    protect    him    against    infection. 


xxxvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

pours  a  costly  unguent  on  his  head,  and  is  rebuked  be- 
cause what  it  cost  might  have  been  given  to  the  poor.  He 
poohpoohs  that  lowspirited  view,  and  says,  as  he  said 
when  he  was  reproached  for  not  fasting,  that  the  poor 
are  always  there  to  be  helped,  but  that  he  is  not  there  to 
be  anointed  always,  implying  that  you  should  never  lose 
a  chance  of  being  happy  when  there  is  so  much  misery 
in  the  world.  He  breaks  the  Sabbath;  is  impatient  of 
conventionality  when  it  is  uncomfortable  or  obstructive; 
and  outrages  the  feelings  of  the  Jews  by  breaches  of  it. 
He  is  apt  to  accuse  people  who  feel  that  way  of  hypoc- 
risy. Like  the  late  Samuel  Butler,  he  regards  disease 
as  a  department  of  sin,  and  on  curing  a  lame  man,  says 
"Thy  sins  are  forgiven"  instead  of  "Arise  and  walk," 
subsequently  maintaining,  when  the  Scribes  reproach 
him  for  assuming  power  to  forgive  sin  as  well  as  to  cure 
disease,  that  the  two  come  to  the  same  thing.  He  has  no 
modest  affectations,  and  claims  to  be  greater  than  Solo- 
mon or  Jonah.  When  reproached,  as  Bunyan  was,  for 
resorting  to  the  art  of  fiction  when  teaching  in  parables, 
he  justifies  himself  on  the  ground  that  art  is  the  only 
way  in  which  the  people  can  be  taught.  He  is,  in  short, 
what  we  should  call  an  artist  and  a  Bohemian  in  his 
manner  of  life. 

Jesus  not  a  Proselytist. 

A  point  of  considerable  practical  importance  today  is 
that  he  expressly  repudiates  the  idea  that  forms  of  re- 
ligion, once  rooted,  can  be  weeded  out  and  replanted  with 
the  flowers  of  a  foreign  faith.  "If  you  try  to  root  up 
the  tares  you  will  root  up  the  wheat  as  well."  Our 
proselytizing  missionary  enterprises  are  thus  flatly  con- 
trary to  his  advice;  and  their  results  appear  to  bear  him 
out  in  his  view  that  if  you  convert  a  man  brought  up  in 
another  creed,  you  inevitably  demoralize  him.     He  acts 


Preface  xxxvii 

on  this  view  himself,  and  does  not  convert  his  disciples 
from  Judaism  to  Christianity.  To  this  day  a  Christian 
would  be  in  religion  a  Jew  initiated  by  baptism  instead 
of  circumcision,  and  accepting  Jesus  as  the  Messiah, 
and  his  teachings  as  of  higher  authority  than  those  of 
Moses,  but  for  the  action  of  the  Jewish  priests,  who,  to 
save  Jewry  from  being  submerged  in  the  rising  flood  of 
Christianity  after  the  capture  of  Jerusalem  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  Temple,  set  up  what  was  practically  a 
new  religious  order,  with  new  Scriptures  and  elaborate 
new  observances,  and  to  their  list  of  the  accursed  added 
one  Jeschu,  a  bastard  magician,  whose  comic  rogueries 
brought  him  to  a  bad  end  like  Punch  or  Til  Eulen- 
spiegel:  an  invention  which  cost  them  dear  when  the 
Christians  got  the  upper  hand  of  them  politically.  The 
Jew  as  Jesus,  himself  a  Jew,  knew  him,  never  dreamt  of 
such  things,  and  could  follow  Jesus  without  ceasing  to 
be  a  Jew. 

The  Teachings  of  Jesus. 

So  much  for  his  personal  life  and  temperament.  His 
public  career  as  a  popular  preacher  carries  him  equally 
far  beyond  John  the  Baptist.  He  lays  no  stress  on 
baptism  or  vows,  and  preaches  conduct  incessantly.  He 
advocates  communism,  the  widening  of  the  private  family 
with  its  cramping  tics  into  the  great  family  of  mankind 
under  the  fatherhood  of  God,  the  abandonment  of  re- 
venge and  punishment,  the  counteracting  of  evil  by  good 
instead  of  by  a  hostile  evil,  and  an  organic  conception 
of  society  in  which  you  are  not  an  independent  individual 
but  a  member  of  society,  your  neighbor  being  another 
member,  and  each  of  you  members  one  of  another,  as  two 
fingers  on  a  hand,  the  obvious  conclusion  being  that  un- 
less you  love  your  neiglibor  as  yourself  and  he  recipro- 
cates you  will  both  be  the  worse  for  it.     He  conveys  all 


xxxviii       Androcles  and  the  Lion 

this  with  extraordinary  charm,  and  entertains  his  hearers 
with  fables  (parables)  to  illustrate  them.  He  has  no 
synagogue  or  regular  congregation,  but  travels  from 
place  to  place  with  twelve  men  whom  he  has  called  from 
their  work  as  he  passed,  and  who  have  abandoned  it  to 
follow  him. 


The  Miracles. 

He  has  certain  abnormal  powers  by  which  he  can  per- 
form miracles.  He  is  ashamed  of  these  powers,  but, 
being  extremely  compassionate,  cannot  refuse  to  exercise 
them  when  afflicted  people  beg  him  to  cure  them,  when 
multitudes  of  people  are  hungry,  and  when  his  disciples 
are  terrified  by  storms  on  the  lakes.  He  asks  for  no 
reward,  but  begs  the  people  not  to  mention  these  powers 
of  his.  There  are  two  obvious  reasons  for  his  dislike  of 
being  known  as  a  worker  of  miracles.  One  is  the  natural 
objection  of  all  men  who  possess  such  powers,  but  have 
far  more  important  business  in  the  world  than  to  exhibit 
them,  to  be  regarded  primarily  as  charlatans,  besides 
being  pestered  to  give  exhibitions  to  satisfy  curiosity. 
The  other  is  that  his  view  of  the  effect  of  miracles  upon 
his  mission  is  exactly  that  taken  later  on  by  Rousseau. 
He  perceives  that  they  will  discredit  him  and  divert  at- 
tention from  his  doctrine  by  raising  an  entirely  irrele- 
vant issue  between  his  disciples  and  his  opponents. 

Possibly  my  readers  may  not  have  studied  Rousseau's 
Letters  Written  From  The  Mountain,  which  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  classic  work  on  miracles  as  credentials  of 
divine  mission.  Rousseau  shews,  as  Jesus  foresaw,  that 
the  miracles  are  the  main  obstacle  to  the  acceptance  of 
Christianity,  because  their  incredibility  (if  they  were  not 
incredible  they  would  not  be  miracles)  makes  people 
sceptical  as  to  the  whole  narrative,  credible  enough  in 
the  main,  in  which  they  occur,  and  suspicious  of  the  doc- 


Preface  xxxix 

trine  with  which  they  are  thus  associated.  "Get  rid  of 
the  miracles/'  said  Rousseau,  "and  the  whole  world  will 
fall  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  Christ."  He  points  out  that 
miracles  offered  as  evidence  of  divinity,  and  failing  to 
convince,  make  divinity  ridiculous.  He  says,  in  effect, 
there  is  nothing  in  making  a  lame  man  walk:  thousands 
of  lame  men  have  been  cured  and  have  walked  without 
any  miracle.  Bring  me  a  man  with  only  one  leg  and 
make  another  grow  instantaneously  on  him  before  my 
eyes ;  and  I  will  be  really  impressed ;  but  mere  cures  of 
ailments  that  have  often  been  cured  before  are  quite  use- 
less as  evidence  of  anything  else  than  desire  to  help  and 
power  to  cure. 

Jesus,  according  to  Matthew,  agreed  so  entirely  with 
Rousseau,  and  felt  the  danger  so  strongly,  that  when 
people  who  were  not  ill  or  in  trouble  came  to  him  and 
asked  him  to  exercise  his  powers  as  a  sign  of  his  mission, 
he  was  irritated  be3^ond  measure,  and  refused  with  an 
indignation  which  they,  not  seeing  Rousseau's  point, 
must  have  thought  very  unreasonable.  To  be  called  "an 
evil  and  adulterous  generation"  merely  for  asking  a 
miracle  worker  to  give  an  exhibition  of  his  powers,  is 
rather  a  startling  experience.  Mahomet,  by  the  way, 
also  lost  his  temper  when  people  asked  him  to  perform 
miracles.  But  Mahomet  expressly  disclaimed  any  un- 
usual powers ;  whereas  it  is  clear  from  Matthew's  story 
that  Jesus  (unfortunately  for  himself,  as  he  thought) 
had  some  powers  of  healing.  It  is  also  obvious  that  the 
exercise  of  such  powers  would  give  rise  to  wild  tales  of 
magical  feats  which  would  expose  their  hero  to  condem- 
nation as  an  impostor  among  people  whose  good  opinion 
was  of  great  consequence  to  the  movement  started  by  his 
mission. 

But  the  deepest  annoyance  arising  from  the  miracles 
would  be  the  irrelevance  of  the  issue  raised  by  them. 
Jcsus's  teaching  has  nothing  to  do  with  miracles.     If  his 


xl  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

mission  had  been  simply  to  demonstrate  a  new  method  of 
restoring  lost  eyesight,  the  miracle  of  curing  the  blind 
would  have  been  entirely  relevant.  But  to  say  "You 
should  love  your  enemies;  and  to  convince  you  of  this  I 
will  now  proceed  to  cure  this  gentleman  of  cataract" 
would  have  been,  to  a  man  of  Jesus's  intelligence,  the 
proposition  of  an  idiot.  If  it  could  be  proved  today  that 
not  one  of  the  miracles  of  Jesus  actually  occurred,  that 
proof  would  not  invalidate  a  single  one  of  his  didactic 
utterances ;  and  conversely,  if  it  could  be  proved  that  not 
only  did  the  miracles  actually  occur,  but  that  he  had 
wrought  a  thousand  other  miracles  a  thousand  times 
more  wonderful,  not  a  jot  of  weight  would  be  added  to 
his  doctrine.  And  yet  the  intellectual  energy  of  sceptics 
and  divines  has  been  wasted  for  generations  in  arguing 
about  the  miracles  on  the  assumption  that  Christianity  is 
at  stake  in  the  controversy  as  to  whether  the  stories  of 
Matthew  are  false  or  true.  According  to  Matthew  him- 
self, Jesus  must  have  known  this  only  too  well;  for 
wherever  he  went  he  was  assailed  with  a  clamor  for 
miracles,  though  his  doctrine  created  bewilderment. 

So  much  for  the  miracles!  Matthew  tells  us  further, 
that  Jesus  declared  that  his  doctrines  would  be  attacked 
by  Church  and  State,  and  that  the  common  multitude 
were  the  salt  of  the  earth  and  the  light  of  the  world. 
His  disciples,  in  their  relations  with  the  political  and 
ecclesiastical  organizations,  would  be  as  sheep  among 
wolves. 

Matthew  imputes  Bigotry  to  Jesus. 

]\Iatthew,  like  most  biographers,  strives  to  identify  the 
opinions  and  prejudices  of  his  hero  with  his  own.  Al- 
though he  describes  Jesus  as  tolerant  even  to  careless- 
ness, he  draws  the  line  at  the  Gentile,  and  represents 
Jesus  as  a  bigoted  Jew  who  regards  his  mission  as  ad- 


Preface  xli 

dressed  exclusively  to  "the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of 
Israel."  WheH  a  woman  of  Canaan  begged  Jesus  to 
cure  her  daughter,  he  first  refused  to  speak  to  her,  and 
then  told  her  brutally  that  "It  is  not  meet  to  take  the 
children's  bread  and  cast  it  to  the  dogs."  But  when  the 
woman  said,  "Truth,  Lord;  yet  the  dogs  eat  of  the 
crumbs  which  fall  from  their  master's  table,"  she  melted 
the  Jew  out  of  him  and  made  Christ  a  Christian.  To  the 
woman  whom  he  had  just  called  a  dog  he  said,  "O 
woman,  great  is  thy  faith:  be  it  unto  thee  even  as  thou 
wilt."  This  is  somehow  one  of  the  most  touching  stories 
in  the  gospel;  perhaps  because  the  woman  rebukes  the 
prophet  by  a  touch  of  his  own  finest  quality.  It  is  cer- 
tainly out  of  character;  but  as  the  sins  of  good  men  are 
always  out  of  character,  it  is  not  safe  to  reject  the  story 
as  invented  in  the  interest  of  Matthew's  determination 
that  Jesus  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  Gentiles. 
At  all  events,  there  the  story  is;  and  it  is  by  no  means 
the  only  instance  in  which  Matthew  reports  Jesus,  in 
spite  of  the  charm  of  his  preaching,  as  extremely  uncivil 
in  private  intcreourse. 


The  Great  Change. 

So  far  the  history  is  that  of  a  man  sane  and  interest- 
ing apart  from  his  special  gifts  as  orator,  healer,  and 
prophet.  But  a  startling  change  occurs.  One  day,  after 
the  disciples  have  discouraged  him  for  a  long  time  by 
their  misunderstanings  of  his  mission,  and  their  specu- 
lations as  to  whether  he  is  one  of  the  old  prophets  come 
again,  and  if  so,  which,  his  disciple  Peter  suddenly  solves 
the  problem  by  exclaiming,  "Thou  are  the  Christ,  the  son 
of  the  living  God."  At  this  Jesus  is  extraordinarily 
pleased  and  excited.  He  declares  that  Peter  has  had  a 
revelation    straight    from    God.      He    makes    a    pun    on 


xlii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Peter's  name,  and  declares  him  the  founder  of  his 
Church.  And  he  accepts  his  destiny  as  a  god  by  an- 
nouncing that  he  will  be  killed  when  he  goes  to  Jeru- 
salem; for  if  he  is  really  the  Christ,  it  is  a  necessary 
part  of  his  legendary  destiny  that  he  shall  be  slain. 
Peter,  not  tmderstanding  this,  rebukes  him  for  what 
seems  mere  craven  melancholy;  and  Jesus  turns  fiercely 
on  him  and  cries,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan." 

Jesus  now  becomes  obsessed  with  a  conviction  of  his 
divinity,  and  talks  about  it  continually  to  his  disciples, 
though  he  forbids  them  to  mention  it  to  others.  They 
begin  to  dispute  among  themselves  as  to  the  position  they 
shall  occupy  in  heaven  when  his  kingdom  is  established. 
Pie  rebukes  them  strenuously  for  this,  and  repeats  his 
teaching  that  greatness  means  service  and  not  domina- 
tion; but  he  himself,  always  instinctively  somewhat 
haughty,  now  becomes  arrogant,  dictatorial,  and  even 
abusive,  never  replying  to  his  critics  without  an  insulting 
epithet,  and  even  cursing  a  fig-tree  which  disappoints 
him  when  he  goes  to  it  for  fruit.  Pie  assumes  all  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  folk-lore  gods,  and  announces  that,  like 
John  Barleycorn,  he  will  be  barbarously  slain  and 
buried,  but  will  rise  from  the  earth  and  return  to  life. 
He  attaches  to  himself  the  immemorial  tribal  ceremony 
of  eating  the  god,  by  blessing  bread  and  wine  and  hand- 
ing them  to  his  disciples  with  the  words  "This  is  my 
body:  this  is  my  blood."  He  forgets  his  own  teaching 
and  threatens  eternal  fire  and  eternal  punishment.  He 
announces,  in  addition  to  his  Barleycorn  resurrection, 
that  he  will  come  to  the  world  a  second  time  in  glory 
and  establish  his  kingdom  on  earth.  He  fears  that  this 
may  lead  to  the  appearance  of  impostors  claiming  to  be 
himself,  and  declares  expHcitly  and  repeatedly  that  no 
matter  what  wonders  these  impostors  may  perform,  his 
own  coming  will  be  unmistakable,  as  the  stars  will  fall 
from  heaven,  and  trumpets  be  blown  by  angels.     Further 


Preface  xliii 

he  declares  that  this  will  take  place  during  the  lifetime 
of  persons  then  present. 

Jerusalem  and  the  Mystical  Sacrifice. 

In  this  new  frame  of  mind  he  at  last  enters  Jerusalem 
amid  great  popular  curiosity ;  drives  the  moneychangers 
and  sacrifice  sellers  out  of  the  temple  in  a  riot;  refuses 
to  interest  himself  in  the  beauties  and  wonders  of  the 
temple  building  on  the  ground  that  presently  not  a  stone 
of  it  shall  be  left  on  another;  reviles  the  high  priests 
and  elders  in  intolerable  terms ;  and  is  arrested  by  night 
in  a  garden  to  avoid  a  popular  disturbance.  He  makes 
no  resistance,  being  persuaded  that  it  is  part  of  his 
destiny  as  a  god  to  be  murdered  and  to  rise  again.  One 
of  his  followers  shews  fight,  and  cuts  off  the  ear  of  one 
of  his  captors.  Jesus  rebukes  him,  but  does  not  attempt 
to  heal  the  wound,  though  he  declares  that  if  he  wished 
to  resist  he  could  easily  summon  twelve  million  angels  to 
his  aid.  He  is  taken  before  the  high  priest  and  by  him 
handed  over  to  the  Roman  governor,  who  is  puzzled  by 
his  silent  refusal  to  defend  himself  in  any  way,  or  to  con- 
tradict his  accusers  or  their  witnesses,  Pilate  having 
naturally  no  idea  that  the  prisoner  conceives  himself  as 
going  through  an  inevitable  process  of  torment,  death, 
and  burial  as  a  prelude  to  resurrection.  Before  the  high 
priest  he  has  also  been  silent  except  that  when  the  priest 
asks  him  is  he  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  he  replies  that 
they  shall  all  see  the  Son  of  Man  sitting  at  the  right 
hand  of  power,  and  coming  on  the  clouds  of  heaven.  He 
maintains  this  attitude  with  frightful  fortitude  whilst 
they  scourge  him,  mock  him,  torment  him,  and  finally 
crucify  him  between  two  thieves.  His  prolonged  agony 
of  thirst  and  pain  on  the  cross  at  last  breaks  his  spirit, 
and  he  dies  with  a  cry  of  "My  God:  why  hast  Thou  for- 
saken me?" 


xliv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Not  this  Man  but  Barabbas. 

Meanwhile  he  has  been  definitely  rejected  by  the 
people  as  well  as  by  the  priests.  Pilate,  pitying  him, 
and  unable  to  make  out  exactly  what  he  has  done  (the 
blasphemy  that  has  horrified  the  high  priest  does  not 
move  the  Roman)  tries  to  get  him  off  by  reminding  the 
people  that  they  have,  by  custom,  the  right  to  have  a 
prisoner  released  at  that  time,  and  suggests  that  he 
should  release  Jesus.  But  they  insist  on  his  releasing 
a  prisoner  named  Barabbas  instead,  and  on  having  Jesus 
crucified.  Matthew  gives  no  clue  to  the  popularity  of 
Barabbas,  describing  him  simply  as  "a  notable  prisoner." 
The  later  gospels  make  it  clear,  very  significantly,  that 
his  offence  was  sedition  and  insurrection;  that  he  was 
an  advocate  of  physical  force;  and  that  he  had  killed 
his  man.  The  choice  of  Barabbas  thus  appears  as  a 
popular  choice  of  the  militant  advocate  of  pliysical  force 
as  against  the  unresisting  advocate  of  mercy. 

The  Resurrection. 

Matthew  then  tells  how  after  three  days  an  angel 
opened  the  family  vault  of  one  Joseph,  a  rich  man  of 
Arimathea,  who  had  buried  Jesus  in  it,  whereupon  Jesus 
rose  and  returned  from  Jerusalem  to  Galilee  and  re- 
sumed his  preaching  with  his  disciples,  assuring  them 
that  he  would  now  be  with  them  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

At  that  point  the  narrative  abruptly  stops.  The  story 
has  no  ending. 

Date  of  Matthew's  Narrative. 

One  effect  of  the  promise  of  Jesus  to  come  again  in 
glory  during  the  lifetime  of  some  of  his  hearers  is  to 


Preface  xlv 

date  the  gospel  without  the  aid  of  any  scholarship.  It 
must  have  been  written  during  the  lifetime  of  Jesus's 
contemporaries :  that  is,  whilst  it  was  still  possible  for 
the  promise  of  his  Second  Coming  to  be  fulfilled.  The 
death  of  the  last  person  who  had  been  alive  when  Jesus 
said  "There  be  some  of  them  that  stand  here  that  shall 
in  no  wise  taste  death  till  they  see  the  Son  of  Man  coming 
in  his  kingdom"  destroyed  the  last  possibility  of  the 
promised  Second  Coming,  and  bore  out  the  incredulity 
of  Pilate  and  the  Jews.  And  as  Matthew  writes  as  one 
believing  in  that  Second  Coming,  and  in  fact  left  his 
story  unfinished  to  be  ended  by  it,  he  must  have  pro- 
duced his  gospel  within  a  lifetime  of  the  crucifixion. 
Also,  he  must  have  believed  that  reading  books  would 
be  one  of  the  pleasures  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  on 
earth. 

Class  Type  of  Matthew's  Jesus. 

One  more  circumstance  must  be  noted  as  gathered 
from  Matthew.  Though  he  begins  his  story  in  such  a 
way  as  to  suggest  that  Jesus  belonged  to  the  privileged 
classes,  he  mentions  later  on  that  when  Jesus  attempted 
to  preach  in  his  own  country,  and  had  no  success  there, 
the  people  said,  "Is  not  this  the  carpenter's  son?"  But 
Jesus's  manner  throughout  is  that  of  an  aristocrat,  or  at 
the  very  least  the  son  of  a  rich  bourgeois,  and  by  no 
means  a  lowly-minded  one  at  that.  We  must  be  careful 
therefore  to  conceive  Joseph,  not  as  a  modern  prole- 
tarian carpenter  working  for  weekly  wages,  but  as  a 
master  craftsman  of  royal  descent.  John  the  Baptist 
may  have  been  a  Keir  Hardie ;  but  the  Jesus  of  Matthew 
is  of  the  Ruskin-Morris  class. 

This  haughty  characterization  is  so  marked  that  if  we 
had  no  other  documents  concerning  Jesus  than  the  gospel 
of  Matthew,  we  should  not  feel  as  we  do  about  him. 


xlvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

We  should  have  been  much  less  loth  to  say,  "There  is 
a  man  here  who  was  sane  until  Peter  hailed  him  as  the 
Christ,  and  who  then  became  a  monomaniac."  We 
should  have  pointed  out  that  his  delusion  is  a  very  com- 
mon delusion  among  the  insane,  and  that  such  insanity 
is  quite  consistent  with  the  retention  of  the  argumenta- 
tive cunning  and  penetration  which  Jesus  displayed  in 
Jerusalem  after  his  delusion  had  taken  complete  hold  of 
him.  We  should  feel  horrified  at  the  scourging  and 
mocking  and  crucifixion  just  as  we  should  if  Ruskin  had 
been  treated  in  that  way  when  he  also  went  mad,  instead 
of  being  cared  for  as  an  invalid.  And  we  should  have 
had  no  clear  perception  of  any  special  significance  in  his 
way  of  calling  the  Son  of  God  the  Son  of  Man.  We 
should  have  noticed  that  he  was  a  Communist;  that  he 
regarded  much  of  what  we  call  law  and  order  as  ma- 
chinery for  robbing  the  poor  under  legal  forms;  that  he 
thought  domestic  ties  a  snare  for  the  soul ;  that  he  agreed 
with  the  proverb  "The  nearer  the  Church,  the  farther 
from  God;"  that  he  saw  very  plainly  that  the  masters 
of  the  community  should  be  its  servants  and  not  its  op- 
pressors and  parasites;  and  that  though  he  did  not  tell 
us  not  to  fight  our  enemies,  he  did  tell  us  to  love  them, 
and  warned  us  that  they  who  draw  the  sword  shall  perish 
by  the  sword.  All  this  shews  a  great  power  of  seeing 
through  vulgar  illusions,  and  a  capacity  for  a  higher 
morality  than  has  yet  been  established  in  any  civilized 
community;  but  it  does  not  place  Jesus  above  Confucius 
or  Plato,  not  to  mention  more  modern  philosophers  and 
moralists. 

MARK. 

The  Women  Disciples  and  the  Ascension. 

Let  us  see  whether  we  can  get  anything  more  out  of 
Markj  whose  gospel,  by  the  way,  is  supposed  to  be  older 


Preface  xlvii 

than  Matthew's.  Mark  is  brief;  and  it  does  not  take 
long  to  discover  that  he  adds  nothing  to  Matthew  except 
the  ending  of  the  story  by  Christ's  ascension  into  heaven, 
and  the  news  that  many  women  had  come  with  Jesus  to 
Jerusalem,  including  Mary  Magdalene,  out  of  whom  he 
had  cast  seven  devils.  On  the  other  hand  Mark  says 
nothing  about  the  birth  of  Jesus,  and  does  not  touch  his 
career  until  his  adult  baptism  by  John.  He  apparently 
regards  Jesus  as  a  native  of  Nazareth,  as  John  does, 
and  not  of  Bethlehem,  as  Matthew  and  Luke  do,  Beth- 
lehem being  the  city  of  David,  from  whom  Jesus  is  said 
by  Matthew  and  Luke  to  be  descended.  He  describes 
John's  doctrine  as  "Baptism  of  repentance  unto  remis- 
sion of  sins":  that  is,  a  form  of  Salvationism.  He  tells 
us  that  Jesus  went  into  the  synagogues  and  taught,  not 
as  the  Scribes  but  as  one  having  authority:  that  is,  we 
infer,  he  preaches  his  own  doctrine  as  an  original  moral- 
ist instead  of  repeating  what  the  books  say.  He  de- 
scribes the  miracle  of  Jesus  reaching  the  boat  by  walk- 
ing across  the  sea,  but  says  nothing  about  Peter  trying 
to  do  the  same.  Mark  sees  what  he  relates  more  vividly 
than  Matthew,  and  gives  touches  of  detail  that  bring 
the  event  more  clearly  before  the  reader.  He  says,  for 
instance,  that  when  Jesus  walked  on  the  waves  to  the 
boat,  he  was  passing  it  by  when  the  disciples  called  out  to 
him.  He  seems  to  feel  that  Jesus's  treatment  of  the 
woman  of  Canaan  requires  some  apology,  and  therefore 
says  that  she  was  a  Greek  of  Syrophenician  race,  which 
probably  excused  any  incivility  to  her  in  Mark's  eyes. 
He  represents  the  father  of  the  boy  whom  Jesus  cured 
of  epilepsy  after  the  transfiguration  as  a  sceptic  who 
says  "Lord,  I  believe:  help  thou  mine  unbelief."  He 
tells  the  story  of  the  widow's  mite,  omitted  by  Matthew. 
He  explains  that  Barabbas  was  "lying  bound  with  them 
that  made  insurrection,  men  who  in  the  insurrection  had 
committed  murder."     Joseph  of  Arimathea,  who  buried 


xlviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Jesus  in  his  own  tomb,  and  who  is  described  by  Matthew 
as  a  disciple,  is  described  by  Mark  as  "one  who  also 
himself  was  looking  for  the  kingdom  of  God,"  which 
suggests  that  he  was  an  independent  seeker.  Mark  earns 
our  gratitude  by  making  no  mention  of  the  old  proph- 
ecies, and  thereby  not  only  saves  time,  but  avoids  the 
absurd  implication  that*  Christ  was  merely  going  through 
a  predetermined  ritual,  like  the  works  of  a  clock,  instead 
of  living.  Finally  Mark  reports  Christ  as  saying,  after 
his  resurrection,  that  those  who  believe  in  him  will  be 
saved  and  those  who  do  not,  damned;  but  it  is  impossible 
to  discover  whether  he  means  anything  by  a  state  of 
damnation  beyond  a  state  of  error.  The  paleographers 
regard  this  passage  as  tacked  on  by  a  later  scribe. 

On  the  whole  Mark  leaves  the  modern  reader  where 
Matthew  left  him. 

LUKE. 

Luke  the  Literary  Artist. 

When  we  come  to  Luke,  we  come  to  a  later  story- 
teller, and  one  with  a  stronger  natural  gift  for  his  art. 
Before  you  have  read  twenty  lines  of  Luke's  gospel  you 
are  aware  that  you  have  passed  from  the  chronicler  writ- 
ing for  the  sake  of  recording  important  facts,  to  the 
artist,  telling  the  story  for  the  sake  of  telling  it.  At  the 
very  outset  he  achieves  the  most  charming  idyll  in  the 
Bible :  the  stor}^  of  Mary  crowded  out  of  the  inn  into  the 
stable  and  laying  her  newly-born  son  in  the  manger,  and 
of  the  shepherds  abiding  in  the  field  keeping  watch  over 
their  flocks  by  night,  and  how  the  angel  of  the  Lord 
came  upon  them,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  around 
them,  and  suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel  a  multitude 
of  the  heavenly  host.  These  shepherds  go  to  the  stable 
and  take  the  place  of  the  kings  in  Matthew's  chronicle. 


Preface  xlix 

So  completely  has  this  story  conquered  and  fascinated  our 
imagination  that  most  of  us  suppose  all  the  gospels  to 
contain  it;  but  it  is  Luke's  story  and  his  alone:  none  of 
the  others  have  the  smallest  hint  of  it. 

The  Charm  of  Luke's  Narrative. 

Luke  gives  the  charm  of  sentimental  romance  to  every 
incident.  The  Annunciation,  as  described  by  Matthew, 
is  made  to  Joseph,  and  is  simply  a  warning  to  him  not 
to  divorce  his  wife  for  misconduct.  In  Luke's  gospel  it 
is  made  to  Mary  herself,  at  much  greater  length,  with  a 
sense  of  the  ecstasy  of  the  bride  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
Jesus  is  refined  and  softened  almost  out  of  recognition: 
the  stern  peremptory  disciple  of  John  the  Baptist,  who 
never  addresses  a  Pharisee  or  a  Scribe  without  an  in- 
sulting epithet,  becomes  a  considerate,  gentle,  sociable, 
almost  urbane  person;  and  the  Chauvinist  Jew  becomes 
a  pro-Gentile  who  is  thrown  out  of  the  synagogue  in  his 
own  town  for  reminding  the  congregation  that  the 
prophets  had  sometimes  preferred  Gentiles  to  Jews.  In 
fact  they  try  to  throw  him  down  from  a  sort  of  Tarpeian 
rock  which  they  use  for  executions;  but  he  makes  his 
way  through  them  and  escapes:  the  only  suggestion  of 
a  feat  of  arms  on  his  part  in  the  gospels.  There  is  not 
a  word  of  the  Syrophenician  woman.  At  the  end  he  is 
calmly  superior  to  his  sufferings;  delivers  an  address 
on  his  way  to  execution  with  unruffled  composure;  does 
not  despair  on  the  cross;  and  dies  with  perfect  dignity, 
commending  his  spirit  to  God,  after  praying  for  the  for- 
giveness of  his  persecutors  on  the  ground  that  "They 
know  not  what  they  do."  According  to  Matthew,  it  is 
part  of  the  bitterness  of  his  death  that  even  the  thieves 
who  are  crucified  with  him  revile  him.  According  to 
Luke,  only  one  of  them  does  this;  and  he  is  rebuked  by 
the  other,  who  begs  Jesus  to  remember  him  when  he 
4 


1  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

comes  into  his  kingdom.  To  which  Jesus  replies,  "This 
day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise,"  implying  that 
he  will  spend  the  three  days  of  his  death  there.  In 
short,  every  device  is  used  to  get  rid  of  the  ruthless 
horror  of  the  Matthew  chronicle,  and  to  relieve  the  strain 
of  the  Passion  by  touching  episodes,  and  by  represent- 
ing Christ  as  superior  to  human  suffering.  It  is  Luke's 
Jesus  who  has  won  our  hearts. 

The  Touch  of  Parisian  Romance. 

Luke's  romantic  shrinking  from  unpleasantness,  and 
his  sentimentality,  are  illustrated  by  his  version  of  the 
woman  with  the  ointment.  Matthew  and  Mark  describe 
it  as  taking  place  in  the  house  of  Simon  the  Leper,  where 
it  is  objected  to  as  a  waste  of  money.  In  Luke's  version 
the  leper  becomes  a  rich  Pharisee;  the  woman  becomes  a 
Dame  aux  Camellias ;  and  nothing  is  said  about  money 
and  the  poor.  The  woman  washes  the  feet  of  Jesus  with 
her  tears  and  dries  them  with  her  hair;  and  he  is  re- 
proached for  suffering  a  sinful  woman  to  touch  him.  It 
is  almost  an  adaptation  of  the  unromantic  Matthew  to 
the  Parisian  stage.  There  is  a  distinct  attempt  to  in- 
crease the  feminine  interest  all  through.  The  slight  lead 
given  by  Mark  is  taken  up  and  developed.  More  is  said 
about  Jesus's  mother  and  her  feelings.  Christ's  follow- 
ing of  women,  just  mentioned  by  Mark  to  account  for 
their  presence  at  his  tomb,  is  introduced  earlier;  and 
some  of  the  women  are  named ;  so  that  we  are  intro- 
duced to  Joanna  the  wife  of  Chuza,  Herod's  steward,  and 
Susanna.  There  is  the  quaint  little  domestic  episode  be- 
tween Mary  and  Martha.  There  is  the  parable  of  the 
Prodigal  Son,  appealing  to  the  indulgence  romance  has 
always  shewn  to  Charles  Surface  and  Des  Grieux. 
Women  follow  Jesus  to  the  cross ;  and  he  makes  them  a 
speech  beginning  "Daughters  of  Jerusalem."     Slight  as 


Preface  li 

these  changes  may  seem,  they  make  a  great  change  in 
the  atmosphere.  The  Christ  of  Matthew  could  never 
have  become  what  is  vulgarly  called  a  woman's  hero 
(though  the  truth  is  that  the  popular  demand  for  senti- 
ment, as  far  as  it  is  not  simply  human,  is  more  manly 
than  womanly)  ;  but  the  Christ  of  Luke  has  made  pos- 
sible those  pictures  which  now  hang  in  many  ladies' 
chambers,  in  which  Jesus  is  represented  exactly  as  he  is 
represented  in  the  Lourdes  cinematograph,  by  a  hand- 
some actor.  The  only  touch  of  realism  which  Luke  does 
not  instinctively  suppress  for  the  sake  of  producing  this 
kind  of  amenity  is  the  reproach  addressed  to  Jesus  for 
sitting  down  to  table  without  washing  his  hands;  and 
that  is  retained  because  an  interesting  discourse  hangs 
on  it. 

Waiting  for  the  Messiah. 

Another  new  feature  in  Luke's  story  is  that  it  begins 
in  a  world  in  which  everyone  is  expecting  the  advent 
of  the  Christ.  In  Matthew  and  Mark,  Jesus  comes  into 
a  normal  Philistine  world  like  our  own  of  today.  Not 
until  the  Baptist  foretells  that  one  greater  than  himself 
shall  come  after  him  does  the  old  Jewish  hope  of  a 
Messiah  begin  to  stir  again;  and  as  Jesus  begins  as  a 
disciple  of  John,  and  is  baptized  by  him,  nobody  con- 
nects him  with  that  hope  until  Peter  has  the  sudden  in- 
spiration which  produces  so  startling  an  effect  on  Jesus. 
But  in  Luke's  gospel  men's  minds,  and  especially  wom- 
en's minds,  are  full  of  eager  expectation  of  a  Christ 
not  only  before  the  birth  of  Jesus,  but  before  the  birth 
of  John  the  Baptist,  the  event  with  which  Luke  begins 
his  story.  Whilst  Jesus  and  John  are  still  in  their 
mothers'  wombs,  John  leaps  at  the  approach  of  Jesus 
when  the  two  mothers  visit  one  another.  At  the  circum- 
cision of  Jesus  pious  men  and  women  hail  the  infant  as 
the  Christ. 


lii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

The  Baptist  himself  is  not  convinced;  for  at  quite  a 
late  period  in  his  former  disciple's  career  he  sends  two 
young  men  to  ask  Jesus  is  he  really  the  Christ.  This  is 
noteworthy  because  Jesus  immediately  gives  them  a 
deliberate  exhibition  of  miracles,  and  bids  them  tell  John 
what  they  have  seen,  and  ask  him  what  he  thinks  now. 
This  is  in  complete  contradiction  to  what  I  have  called 
the  Rousseau  view  of  miracles  as  inferred  from  Matthew. 
Luke  shews  all  a  romancer's  thoughtlessness  about  mir- 
acles; he  regards  them  as  "signs":  that  is,  as  proofs  of 
the  divinity  of  the  person  performing  them,  and  not 
merely  of  thaumaturgic  powers.  He  revels  in  miracles 
just  as  he  revels  in  parables:  they  make  such  capital 
stories.  He  cannot  allow  the  calling  of  Peter,  James, 
and  John  from  their  boats  to  pass  without  a  comic  mi- 
raculous overdraft  of  fishes,  with  the  net  sinking  the  boats 
and  provoking  Peter  to  exclaim,  "Depart  from  me;  for 
I  am  a  sinful  man,  O  Lord,"  which  should  probably  be 
translated,  "I  want  no  more  of  your  miracles:  natural 
fishing  is  good  enough  for  my  boats." 

There  are  some  other  novelties  in  Luke's  version. 
Pilate  sends  Jesus  to  Herod,  who  happens  to  be  in 
Jerusalem  just  then,  because  Herod  had  expressed  some 
curiosity  about  him ;  but  nothing  comes  of  it :  the  prisoner 
will  not  speak  to  him.  When  Jesus  is  ill  received  in  a 
Samaritan  village  James  and  John  propose  to  call  down 
fire  from  heaven  and  destroy  it;  and  Jesus  replies  that 
he  is  come  not  to  destroy  lives  but  to  save  them.  The 
bias  of  Jesus  against  lawyers  is  emphasized,  and  also  his 
resolution  not  to  admit  that  he  is  more  bound  to  his 
relatives  than  to  strangers.  He  snubs  a  woman  who 
blesses  his  mother.  As  this  is  contrary  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  sentimental  romance,  Luke  would  presumably 
have  avoided  it  had  he  not  become  persuaded  that  the 
brotherhood  of  Man  and  the  Fatherhood  of  God  are 
superior  even  to  sentimental  considerations.     The  story 


Preface  liii 

of  the  lawyer  asking  what  are  the  two  chief  command- 
ments is  changed  by  making  Jesus  put  the  question  to 
the  lawyer  instead  of  answering  it. 

As  to  doctrine,  Luke  is  only  clear  when  his  feelings 
are  touched.  His  logic  is  weak;  for  some  of  the  sayings 
of  Jesus  are  pieced  together  wrongly,  as  anyone  who  has 
read  them  in  the  right  order  and  context  in  Matthew 
will  discover  at  once.  He  does  not  make  anything  new 
out  of  Christ's  mission,  and,  like  the  other  evangelists, 
thinks  that  the  whole  point  of  it  is  that  Jesus  was  the 
long  expected  Christ,  and  that  he  will  presently  come 
back  to  earth  and  establish  his  kingdom,  having  duly 
died  and  risen  again  after  three  days.  Yet  Luke  not 
only  records  the  teaching  as  to  communism  and  the  dis- 
carding of  hate,  which  have,  of  course,  nothing  to  do 
with  the  Second  Coming,  but  quotes  one  very  remark- 
able saying  which  is  not  compatible  with  it,  which  is, 
that  people  must  not  go  about  asking  where  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is,  and  saying  "Lo,  here !"  and  "Lo, 
there !"  because  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  them. 
But  Luke  has  no  sense  that  this  belongs  to  a  quite  differ- 
ent order  of  thought  to  his  Christianity,  and  retains  un- 
disturbed his  view  of  the  kingdom  as  a  locality  as  de- 
finite as  Jerusalem  or  Madagascar. 

JOHN. 

A  New  Story  and  a  New  Character. 

The  gospel  of  John  is  a  surprise  after  the  others. 
Matthew,  Mark  and  Luke  describe  the  same  events  in 
the  same  order  (the  variations  in  Luke  are  negligible), 
and  their  gospels  are  therefore  called  the  synoptic  gos- 
pels. They  tell  substantially  the  same  story  of  a  wan- 
dering preacher  who  at  the  end  of  his  life  came  to  Jeru- 
salem.   John  describes  a  preacher  who  spent  practically 


liv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

his  whole  adult  life  in  the  capital,  with  occasional  visits 
to  the  provinces.  His  circumstantial  account  of  the 
calling  of  Peter  and  the  sons  of  Zebedee  is  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  others;  and  he  says  nothing  about  their 
being  fishermen.  He  says  expressly  that  Jesus,  though 
baptized  by  John,  did  not  himself  practise  baptism,  and 
that  his  disciples  did.  Christ's  agonized  appeal  against 
his  doom  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane  becomes  a  cold- 
blooded suggestion  made  in  the  temple  at  a  much  earlier 
period.  Jesus  argues  much  more;  complains  a  good  deal 
of  the  unreasonableness  and  dislike  with  which  he  is 
met;  is  by  no  means  silent  before  Caiaphas  and  Pilate; 
lays  much  greater  stress  on  his  resurrection  and  on  the 
eating  of  his  body  (losing  all  his  disciples  except  the 
twelve  in  consequence)  ;  says  many  apparently  contra- 
dictory and  nonsensical  things  to  which  no  ordinary 
reader  can  now  find  any  clue;  and  gives  the  impression 
of  an  educated,  not  to  say  sopliisticated  mystic,  different 
both  in  character  and  schooling  from  the  simple  and 
downright  preacher  of  Matthew  and  Mark,  and  the  ur- 
bane easy-minded  charmer  of  Luke.  Indeed,  the  Jews 
say  of  him  "How  knoweth  this  man  letters,  having  never 
learnt.''" 

John  the  Immortal  Eye  Witness. 

John,  moreover,  claims  to  be  not  only  a  chronicler  but 
a  witness.  He  declares  that  he  is  "the  disciple  whom 
Jesus  loved,"  and  that  he  actually  leaned  on  the  bosom 
of  Jesus  at  the  last  supper  and  asked  in  a  whisper  which 
of  them  it  was  that  should  betray  him.  Jesus  whispered 
that  he  would  give  a  sop  to  the  traitor,  and  thereupon 
handed  one  to  Judas,  who  ate  it  and  immediately  became 
possessed  by  the  devil.  This  is  more  natural  than  the 
other  accounts,  in  which  Jesus  openly  indicates  Judas 
without  eliciting  any  protest  or  exciting  any  comment.   It 


Preface  Iv 

also  implies  that  Jesus  deliberately  bewitched  Judas  in 
order  to  bring  about  his  own  betrayal.  Later  on  John 
claims  that  Jesus  said  to  Peter  "If  I  will  that  John  tarry 
til  I  come,  what  is  that  to  thee?";  and  John,  with  a 
rather  obvious  mock  modesty,  adds  that  he  must  not 
claim  to  be  immortal,  as  the  disciples  concluded;  for 
Christ  did  not  use  that  expression,  but  merely  remarked 
"If  I  will  that  he  tarry  till  I  come."  No  other  evangelist 
claims  personal  intimacy  with  Christ,  or  even  pretends 
to  be  his  contemporary  (there  is  no  ground  for  identi- 
fying Matthew  the  publican  with  INIatthew  the  Evange- 
list) ;  and  John  is  the  only  evangelist  whose  account  of 
Christ's  career  and  character  is  hopelessly  irreconcilable 
with  Matthew's.  He  is  almost  as  bad  as  Matthew,  by 
the  way,  in  his  repeated  explanations  of  Christ's  actions 
as  having  no  other  purpose  than  to  fulfil  the  old  pro- 
phecies. The  impression  is  more  unpleasant,  because,  as 
John,  unlike  Matthew,  is  educated,  subtle,  and  obsessed 
with  artificial  intellectual  mystifications,  the  discovery 
that  he  is  stupid  or  superficial  in  so  simple  a  matter 
strikes  one  with  distrust  and  dislike,  in  spite  of  his  great 
literary  charm,  a  good  example  of  which  is  his  trans- 
figuration of  the  harsh  episode  of  the  Syrophenician 
woman  into  the  pleasant  story  of  the  woman  of  Samaria. 
This  perhaps  is  why  his  claim  to  be  John  the  disciple,  or 
to  be  a  contemporary  of  Christ  or  even  of  any  survivor 
of  Christ's  generation,  has  been  disputed,  and  finally,  it 
seems,  disallowed.  But  I  repeat,  I  take  no  note  here  of 
the  disputes  of  experts  as  to  the  date  of  the  gospels, 
not  because  I  am  not  acquainted  with  them,  but  because, 
as  the  earliest  codices  are  Greek  manuscripts  of  the 
fourth  century  a.d.^  and  the  Syrian  ones  are  translations 
from  the  Greek,  the  paleographic  expert  has  no  difficulty 
in  arriving  at  whatever  conclusion  happens  to  suit  his  be- 
liefs or  disbeliefs ;  and  he  never  succeeds  in  convincing 
the  other  experts  except  when  they  believe  or  disbelieve 


Ivi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

exactly  as  he  does.  Hence  I  conclude  that  the  dates  of 
the  original  narratives  cannot  be  ascertained,  and  that 
we  must  make  the  best  of  the  evangelists'  own  accounts 
of  themselves.  There  is,  as  we  have  seen,  a  very  marked 
difference  between  them,  leaving  no  doubt  that  we  are 
dealing  with  four  authors  of  well-marked  diversity;  but 
they  all  end  in  an  attitude  of  expectancy  of  the  Second 
Coming  which  they  agree  in  declaring  Jesus  to  have  posi- 
tively and  unequivocally  promised  within  the  lifetime  of 
his  contemporaries.  Any  believer  compiling  a  gospel 
after  the  last  of  these  contemporaries  had  pa,ssed  away, 
would  either  reject  and  omit  the  tradition  of  that  promise 
on  the  ground  that  since  it  was  not  fulfilled,  and  could 
never  now  be  fulfilled,  it  could  not  have  been  made,  or 
else  have  had  to  confess  to  the  Jews,  who  were  the  keen- 
est critics  of  the  Christians,  that  Jesus  was  either  an 
impostor  or  the  victim  of  a  delusion.  Now  all  the  evange- 
lists except  Matthew  expressly  declare  themselves  to 
be  believers;  and  Matthew's  narrative  is  obviously  not 
that  of  a  sceptic.  I  therefore  assume  as  a  matter  of 
common  sense  that,  interpolations  apart,  the  gospels  are 
derived  from  narratives  written  in  the  first  century  a.d. 
I  include  John,  because  though  it  may  be  claimed  that 
he  hedged  his  position  by  claiming  that  Christ,  who 
specially  loved  him,  endowed  him  with  a  miraculous  life 
until  the  Second  Coming,  the  conclusion  being  that  John 
is  alive  at  this  moment,  I  cannot  believe  that  a  literary 
forger  could  hope  to  save  the  situation  by  so  outrageous 
a  pretension.  Also,  John's  narrative  is  in  many  passages 
nearer  to  the  realities  of  public  life  than  the  simple 
chronicle  of  Matthew  or  the  sentimental  romance  of  Luke. 
This  may  be  because  John  was  obviously  more  a  man  of 
the  world  than  the  others,  and  knew,  as  mere  chroniclers 
and  romancers  never  know,  what  actually  happens  away 
from  books  and  desks.  But  it  may  also  be  because  he  saw 
and  heard  what  happened  instead  of  collecting  traditions 


Preface  Ivii 

about  it.  The  paleographers  and  daters  of  first  quota- 
tions may  say  what  they  please:  John's  claim  to  give 
evidence  as  an  eyewitness  whilst  the  others  are  only  com- 
piling history  is  supported  by  a  certain  verisimilitude 
which  appeals  to  me  as  one  who  has  preached  a  new 
doctrine  and  argued  about  it,  as  well  as  written  stories. 
This  verisimilitude  may  be  dramatic  art  backed  by 
knowledge  of  public  life;  but  even  at  that  we  must  not 
forget  that  the  best  dramatic  art  is  the  operation  of  a 
divinatory  instinct  for  truth.  Be  that  as  it  may,  John 
was  certainly  not  the  man  to  believe  in  the  Second  Com- 
ing and  yet  give  a  date  for  it  after  that  date  had  passed. 
There  is  really  no  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  the 
originals  of  all  the  gospels  date  from  the  period  within 
which  there  was  still  a  possibility  of  the  Second  Com- 
ing occurring  at  the  promised  time. 

The  Peculiar  Theology  of  Jesus. 

In  spite  of  the  suspicions  roused  by  John's  idiosyn- 
crasies, his  narrative  is  of  enormous  importance  to  those 
who  go  to  the  gospels  for  a  credible  modern  religion. 
For  it  is  John  who  adds  to  the  other  records  such  sayings 
as  that  "I  and  my  father  are  one";  that  "God  is  a  spirit"; 
that  the  aim  of  Jesus  is  not  only  that  the  people  should 
have  life,  but  that  they  should  have  it  "more  abundantly" 
(a  distinction  much  needed  by  people  who  think  a  man 
is  either  alive  or  dead,  and  never  consider  the  important 
question  how  much  alive  he  is)  ;  and  that  men  should 
bear  in  mind  what  they  were  told  in  the  82nd  Psalm: 
that  they  are  gods,  and  are  responsible  for  the  doing  of 
the  mercy  and  justice  of  God.  The  Jews  stoned  him 
for  saying  these  things,  and,  when  he  remonstrated  with 
them  for  stupidly  stoning  one  who  had  done  nothing  to 
them  but  good  works,  rc})lied  "For  a  good  work  we 
stone  thee  not;  but  for  blasphemy,  because  that  thou,  be- 


Iviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

ing  a  man,  makest  thyself  God."  He  insists  (referring 
to  the  82nd  psalm)  that  if  it  is  part  of  their  own  religion 
that  they  are  gods  on  the  assurance  of  God  himself,  it 
cannot  be  blasphemy  for  him,  whom  the  Father  sanctified 
and  sent  into  the  world,  to  say  "I  am  the  son  of  God." 
But  they  will  not  have  this  at  any  price;  and  he  has  to 
escape  from  their  fury.  Here  the  point  is  obscured  by 
the  distinction  made  by  Jesus  between  himself  and  other 
men.  He  says,  in  effect,  "If  you  are  gods,  then,  a  for- 
tiori, I  am  a  god."  John  makes  him  say  this,  just  as  he 
makes  him  say  "I  am  the  light  of  the  world."  But  Mat- 
thew makes  him  say  to  the  people  "Ye  are  the  light  of 
the  world."  John  has  no  grip  of  the  significance  of 
these  scraps  which  he  has  picked  up :  he  is  far  more  in- 
terested in  a  notion  of  his  own  that  men  can  escape  death 
and  do  even  more  extraordinary  things  than  Christ  him- 
self: in  fact,  he  actually  represents  Jesus  as  promising 
this  explicitly,  and  is  finally  led  into  the  audacious  hint 
that  he,  John,  is  himself  immortal  in  the  flesh.  Still,  he 
does  not  miss  the  significant  sayings  altogether.  However 
inconsistent  they  may  be  with  the  doctrine  he  is  con- 
sciously driving  at,  they  appeal  to  some  sub-intellectual 
instinct  in  him  that  makes  him  stick  them  in,  like  a  child 
sticking  tinsel  stars  on  the  robe  of  a  toy  angel. 

John  does  not  mention  the  ascension ;  and  the  end  of 
his  narrative  leaves  Christ  restored  to  life,  and  appear- 
ing from  time  to  time  among  his  disciples.  It  is  on  one 
of  these  occasions  that  John  describes  the  miraculous 
draught  of  fishes  which  I.uke  places  at  the  other  end  of 
Christ's  career,  at  the  call  of  the  sons  of  Zebedee. 

John  agreed  as  to  the  Trial  and  Crucifixion. 

Although  John,  following  his  practice  of  shewing 
Jesus's  skill  as  a  debater,  makes  him  play  a  less  passive 
part  at  his  trial^  he  still  gives  substantially  the  same  ac- 


Preface  lix 

count  of  it  as  all  the  rest.  And  the  question  that  would 
occur  to  any  modern  reader  never  occurs  to  him^  any 
more  than  it  occurred  to  Matthew,  Mark,  or  Luke.  That 
question  is,  Why  on  earth  did  not  Jesus  defend  himself, 
and  make  the  people  rescue  him  from  the  High  Priest? 
jHe  was  so  popular  that  they  were  unable  to  prevent  him 
driving  the  money-changers  out  of  the  temple,  or  to 
arrest  him  for  it.  When  they  did  arrest  him  afterwards, 
they  had  to  do  it  at  night  in  a  garden.  He  could  have 
argued  with  them  as  he  had  often  done  in  the  temple, 
and  justified  himself  both  to  the  Jewish  law  and  to 
Caesar.  And  he  had  physical  force  at  his  command 
to  back  up  his  arguments:  all  that  was  needed  was  a 
speech  to  rally  his  followers;  and  he  was  not  gagged. 
The  reply  of  the  evangelists  would  have  been  that  all 
these  inquiries  are  idle,  because  if  Jesus  had  wished  to 
escape,  he  could  have  saved  himself  all  that  trouble  by 
doing  what  John  describes  him  as  doing:  that  is,  casting 
his  captors  to  the  earth  by  an  exertion  of  his  miraculous 
power.  If  you  asked  John  why  he  let  them  get  up  again 
and  torment  and  execute  him,  John  would  have  replied 
tliat  it  was  part  of  the  destiny  of  God  to  be  slain  and 
buried  and  to  rise  again,  and  that  to  have  avoided  this 
destiny  would  have  been  to  repudiate  his  Godhead.  And 
that  is  the  only  apparent  explanation.  Whether  you  be- 
lieve with  the  evangelists  that  Christ  could  have  rescued 
himself  by  a  miracle,  or,  as  a  modern  Secularist,  point 
out  that  he  could  have  defended  himself  effectually,  the 
fact  remains  that  according  to  all  the  narratives  he  did 
not  do  so.  He  had  to  die  like  a  god,  not  to  save  him- 
self "like  one  of  the  princes."  ^     The  consensus  on  this 

1  Jesus  himself  had  refered  to  that  psalm  (lxxxii)  in  which  men 
who  have  judged  unjustly  and  accepted  the  persons  of  the  wicked 
(including  by  anticipation  practically  all  the  white  inhabitants  of 
tl'e  British  Isles  and  the  North  American  continent,  to  mention  no 
other  places)  are  condemned  in  the  words,  "  I  have  said,  ye  are 
gdcis;  and  all  of  ye  are  children  of  the  Most  High;  but  ye  shall  die 
like  men,  and  fall  like  one  of  the  princes." 


Ix  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

point  is  important,  because  it  proves  the  absolute  sincerity 
of  Jesus's  declaration  that  he  was  a  god.  No  impostor 
would  have  accepted  such  dreadful  consequences  without 
an  effort  to  save  himself.  No  impostor  would  have  been 
nerved  to  endure  them  by  the  conviction  that  he  would 
rise  from  the  grave  and  live  again  after  three  days.  If 
we  accept  the  story  at  all,  we  must  believe  this,  and  be- 
lieve also  that  his  promise  to  return  in  glory  and  establish 
his  kingdom  on  earth  within  the  lifetime  of  men  then 
living,  was  one  which  he  believed  that  he  could,  and  in- 
deed must  fulfil.  Two  evangelists  declare  that  in  his  last 
agony  he  despaired,  and  reproached  God  for  forsaking 
him.  The  other  two  represent  him  as  dying  in  unshaken 
conviction  and  charity  with  the  simple  remark  that  the 
ordeal  was  finished.  But  all  four  testify  that  his  faith 
was  not  deceived,  and  that  he  actually  rose  again  after 
tliree  days.  And  I  think  it  unreasonable  to  doubt  that 
all  four  wrote  their  narratives  in  full  faith  that  the  other 
promise  would  be  fulfilled  too,  and  that  they  themselves 
might  live  to  witness  the  Second  Coming. 


Credibility  of  the  Gospels. 

It  will  be  noted  by  the  older  among  my  readers,  who 
are  sure  to  be  obsessed  more  or  less  by  elderly  wrangles 
as  to  whether  the  gospels  are  credible  as  matter-of-fact 
narratives,  that  I  have  hardly  raised  this  question,  and 
have  accepted  the  credible  and  incredible  with  equal  com- 
placency. I  have  done  this  because  credibility  is  a  sub- 
jective condition,  as  the  evolution  of  religious  belief  clear- 
ly shews.  Belief  is  not  dependent  on  evidence  and  rea- 
son. There  is  as  much  evidence  that  the  miracles  occurred 
as  that  the  battle  of  Waterloo  occurred,  or  that  a  large 
body  of  Russian  troops  passed  through  England  in  1914 
to  take  part  in  the  war  on  the  western  front.     The  rea- 


Preface  Ixi 

sons  for  believing  in  the  murder  of  Pompey  are  the  same 
as  the  reasons  for  believing  in  the  raising  of  Lazarus. 
Both  have  been  believed  and  doubted  by  men  of  equal 
intelligence.  Miracles,  in  the  sense  of  phenomena  we 
cannot  explain,  surround  us  on  every  hand;  life  itself  is 
the  miracle  of  miracles.  Miracles  in  the  sense  of  events 
that  violate  the  normal  course  of  our  experience  are 
vouched  for  every  day:  the  flourishing  Church  of  Christ 
Scientist  is  founded  on  a  multitude  of  such  miracles.  No- 
body believes  all  the  miracles:  everybody  believes  some 
of  them.  I  cannot  tell  why  men  who  will  not  believe  that 
Jesus  ever  existed  yet  believe  firmly  that  Shakespear  was 
Bacon.  I  cannot  tell  why  people  who  believe  that  angels 
appeared  and  fought  on  our  side  at  the  battle  of  Mons, 
and  who  believe  that  miracles  occur  quite  frequently  at 
Lourdes,  nevertheless  boggle  at  the  miracle  of  the  lique- 
faction of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius,  and  reject  it  as  a 
trick  of  priestcraft.  I  cannot  tell  why  people  who  will 
not  believe  Mattliew's  story  of  three  kings  bringing  costly 
gifts  to  the  cradle  of  Jesus,  believe  Luke's  story  of  the 
shepherds  and  the  stable.  I  cannot  tell  why  people, 
brought  up  to  believe  the  Bible  in  the  old  literal  way  as 
an  infallible  record  and  revelation,  and  rejecting  that 
view  later  on,  begin  by  rejecting  the  Old  Testament, 
and  give  up  the  belief  in  a  brimstone  hell  before  they  give 
up  (if  they  ever  do)  the  belief  in  a  heaven  of  harps, 
crowns,  and  thrones.  I  cannot  tell  why  people  who  will 
not  believe  in  baptism  on  any  terms  believe  in  vaccination 
with  the  cruel  fanaticism  of  inquisitors.  I  am  convinced 
that  if  a  dozen  sceptics  were  to  draw  up  in  parallel 
columns  a  list  of  the  events  narrated  in  the  gospels  which 
they  consider  credible  and  incredible  respectively,  their 
lists  would  be  different  in  several  particulars.  Belief  is 
literally  a  matter  of  taste. 


Ixii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Fashions  of  BeUef. 

Now  matters  of  taste  are  mostly  also  matters  of 
fashion.  We  are  conscious  of  a  difference  between  me- 
dieval fashions  in  belief  and  modern  fashions.  For  in- 
stance^ though  we  are  more  credulous  than  men  were  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  entertain  such  crowds  of  fortune- 
tellers, magicians,  miracle  workers,  agents  of  communi- 
cation with  the  dead,  discoverers  of  the  elixir  of  life, 
transmuters  of  metals,  and  healers  of  all  sorts,  as  the 
Middle  Ages  never  dreamed  of  as  possible,  yet  we  will 
not  take  our  miracles  in  the  form  that  convinced  the 
Middle  Ages.  Arithmetical  numbers  appealed  to  the 
Middle  Ages  just  as  they  do  to  us,  because  they  are 
difficult  to  deal  with,  and  because  the  greatest  masters 
of  numbers,  the  Newtons  and  Leibnitzes,  rank  among 
the  greatest  men.  But  there  are  fashions  in  numbers  too. 
The  Middle  Ages  took  a  fancy  to  some  familiar  number 
like  seven;  and  because  it  was  an  odd  number,  and  the 
world  was  made  in  seven  days,  and  there  are  seven  stars 
in  Charles's  Wain,  and  for  a  dozen  other  reasons,  they 
were  ready  to  believe  anything  that  had  a  seven  or  a 
seven  times  seven  in  it.  Seven  deadly  sins,  seven  swords 
of  sorrow  in  the  heart  of  the  Virgin,  seven  champions  of 
Christendom,  seemed  obvious  and  reasonable  things  to 
believe  in  simply  because  they  were  seven.  To  us,  on  the 
contrary,  the  number  seven  is  the  stamp  of  superstition. 
We  will  believe  in  nothing  less  than  millions.  A  medieval 
doctor  gained  his  patient's  confidence  by  telling  him  that 
his  vitals  were  being  devoured  by  seven  worms.  Such  a 
diagnosis  would  ruin  a  modern  physician.  The  modern 
physician  tells  his  patient  that  he  is  ill  because  every  drop 
of  his  blood  is  swarming  with  a  million  microbes;  and  the 
patient  believes  him  abjectly  and  instantly.  Had  a 
bishop  told  William  the  Conqueror  that  the  sun  was 
seventy-seven  miles  distant  from  the  earth,  William  would 


Preface  Ixiii 

have  believed  him  not  only  out  of  respect  for  the  Church, 
but  because  he  would  have  felt  that  seventy-seven  miles 
was  the  proper  distance.  The  Kaiser,  knowing  just  as 
little  about  it  as  the  Conqueror,  would  send  that  bishop 
to  an  asylum.  Yet  he  (I  presume)  unhesitatingly  ac- 
cepts the  estimate  of  ninety-two  and  nine-tenths  millions 
of  miles,  or  whatever  the  latest  big  figure  may  be. 

Credibility  and  Truth. 

And  here  I  must  remind  you  that  our  credulity  is  not 
to  be  measured  by  the  truth  of  the  things  we  believe. 
When  men  believed  that  the  earth  was  flat,  they  were  not 
credulous:  they  were  using  their  common  sense,  and,  if 
asked  to  prove  that  the  earth  was  flat,  would  have  said 
simply,  "Look  at  it."  Those  who  refuse  to  believe  that 
it  is  round  are  exercising  a  wholesome  scepticism.  The 
modern  man  who  believes  that  the  earth  is  round  is 
grossly  credulous.  Flat  Earth  men  drive  him  to  fury 
by  confuting  him  with  the  greatest  ease  when  he  tries  to 
argue  about  it.  Confront  him  with  a  theory  that  the 
earth  is  cylindrical,  or  annular,  or  hour-glass  shaped, 
and  he  is  lost.  The  thing  he  believes  may  be  true,  but 
that  is  not  why  he  believes  it:  he  believes  it  because  in 
some  mysterious  way  it  appeals  to  his  imagination.  If 
you  ask  him  why  he  believes  that  the  sun  is  ninety-odd 
million  miles  off,  either  he  will  have  to  confess  that  he 
doesnt  know,  or  he  will  say  that  Newton  proved  it.  But 
lie  has  not  read  the  treatise  in  which  Newton  proved  it, 
and  does  not  even  know  that  it  was  written  in  Latin.  If 
you  press  an  Ulster  Protestant  as  to  why  he  regards  New- 
ton as  an  infallible  autliority,  and  St.  Thomas  Aquinas 
or  the  Pope  as  superstitious  liars  whom,  after  his  death, 
he  will  have  the  pleasure  of  watching  from  his  place  in 
heaven  whilst  they  roast  in  eternal  flame,  or  if  you  ask 
me   why   I   take   into   serious   consideration    Colonel   Sir 


Ixiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Almroth  Wright's  estimates  of  the  number  of  streptococci 
contained  in  a  given  volume  of  serum  whilst  I  can  only 
laugh  at  the  earlier  estimates  of  the  number  of  angels 
that  can  be  accommodated  on  the  point  of  a  needle,  no 
reasonable  reply  is  possible  except  that  somehovp^  sevens 
and  angels  are  out  of  fashion,  and  billions  and  streptoc- 
occi are  all  the  rage.  I  simply  cannot  tell  you  why  Ba- 
con, Montaigne,  and  Cervantes  had  a  quite  different 
fashion  of  credulity  and  incredulity  from  the  Venerable 
Bede  and  Piers  Plowman  and  the  divine  doctors  of  the 
Aquinas- Aristotle  school,  who  were  certainly  no  stupider, 
and  had  the  same  facts  before  them.  Still  less  can  I 
explain  why,  if  we  assume  that  these  leaders  of  thought 
had  all  reasoned  out  their  beliefs,  their  authority  seemed 
conclusive  to  one  generation  and  blasphemous  to  another, 
neither  generation  having  followed  the  reasoning  or  gone 
into  the  facts  of  the  matter  for  itself  at  all. 

It  is  therefore  idle  to  begin  disputing  with  the  reader 
as  to  what  he  should  believe  in  the  gospels  and  what  he 
should  disbelieve.  He  will  believe  what  he  can,  and  dis- 
believe what  he  must.  If  he  draws  any  lines  at  all,  they 
will  be  quite  arbitrary  ones.  St.  John  tells  us  that  when 
Jesus  explicitly  claimed  divine  honors  by  the  sacrament 
of  his  body  and  blood,  so  many  of  his  disciples  left  him 
that  their  number  was  reduced  to  twelve.  Many  modern 
readers  will  not  hold  out  so  long:  they  will  give  in  at  the 
first  miracle.  Others  will  discriminate.  They  will  accept 
the  healing  miracles,  and  reject  the  feeding  of  the  multi- 
tude. To  some  the  walking  on  the  water  will  be  a  legen- 
dary exaggeration  of  a  swim,  ending  in  an  ordinary  res- 
cue of  Peter;  and  the  raising  of  Lazarus  will  be  only  a 
similar  glorification  of  a  commonplace  feat  of  artificial 
respiration,  whilst  others  will  scoff  at  it  as  a  planned 
imposture  in  which  Lazarus  acted  as  a  confederate.  Be- 
tween the  rejection  of  the  stories  as  wholly  fabulous  and 
the   acceptance   of  them   as  the   evangelists   themselves 


Preface  Ixv 

mean  them  to  be  accepted,'  there  will  be  many  shades  of 
belief  and  disbelief,  of  sympathy  and  derision.  It  is 
not  a  question  of  being  a  Christian  or  not.  A  Mahometan 
Arab  will  accept  literally  and  without  question  parts  of 
the  narrative  which  an  English  Archbishop  has  to  reject 
or  explain  away;  and  many  Theosophists  and  lovers  of 
the  wisdom  of  India,  who  never  enter  a  Christian  Church 
except  as  sightseers,  will  revel  in  parts  of  John's  gospel 
which  mean  nothing  to  a  pious  matter-of-fact  Bradford 
manufacturer.  Every  reader  takes  from  the  Bible  what 
he  can  get.  In  submitting  a  precis  of  the  gospel  narra- 
tives I  have  not  implied  any  estimate  either  of  their  cred- 
ibility or  of  their  truth.  I  have  simply  informed  him 
or  reminded  him,  as  the  case  may  be,  of  what  those  nar- 
ratives tell  us  about  their  hero. 


Christian  Iconolatry  and  the  Peril  of  the 
Iconoclast. 

I  must  now  abandon  this  attitude,  and  make  a  serious 
draft  on  the  reader's  attention  by  facing  the  question 
whether,  if  and  when  the  medieval  and  Methodist  will-to- 
believe  the  Salvationist  and  miraculous  side  of  the  gospel 
narratives  fails  us,  as  it  plainly  has  failed  the  leaders  of 
modern  thought,  there  will  be  anything  left  of  the  mission 
of  Jesus:  whether,  in  short,  we  may  not  throw  the 
gospels  into  the  waste-paper  basket,  or  put  them  away  on 
the  fiction  shelf  of  our  libraries.  I  venture  to  reply  that 
we  shall  be,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  position  of  the  man 
in  Bunyan's  riddle  who  found  that  "the  more  he  threw 
away,  the  more  he  had."  We  get  rid,  to  begin  with,  of 
the  idolatrous  or  iconographic  worship  of  Christ.  By  this 
I  mean  literally  that  worship  which  is  given  to  pictures 
and  statues  of  him,  and  to  finished  and  unalterable  stories 
about  him.  The  test  of  the  prevalence  of  this  is  that 
6 


Ixvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

if  you  speak  or  write  of  Jesus  as  a  real  live  person,  or 
even  as  a  still  active  God,  such  worshippers  are  more 
horrified  than  Don  Juan  was  when  the  statue  stepped 
from  its  pedestal  and  came  to  supper  with  him.  You 
may  deny  the  divinity  of  Jesus ;  you  may  doubt  whether 
he  ever  existed;  you  may  reject  Christianity  for  Judaism, 
Mahometanism,  Shintoism,  or  Fire  Worship;  and  the 
iconolaters,  placidly  contemptuous,  will  only  classify  you 
as  a  freethinker  or  a  heathen.  But  if  you  venture  to 
wonder  how  Christ  would  have  looked  if  he  had  shaved 
and  had  his  hair  cut,  or  what  size  in  shoes  he  took,  or 
whether  he  swore  when  he  stood  on  a  nail  in  the  car- 
penter's shop,  or  could  not  button  his  robe  when  he  was 
in  a  hurry,  or  whether  he  laughed  over  the  repartees  by 
which  he  baffled  the  priests  when  they  tried  to  trap  him 
into  sedition  and  blasphemy,  or  even  if  you  tell  any  part 
of  his  story  in  the  vivid  terms  of  modern  colloquial  slang, 
you  will  produce  an  extraordinary  dismay  and  horror 
among  the  iconolaters.  You  will  have  made  the  picture 
come  out  of  its  frame,  the  statue  descend  from  its  pedes- 
tal, the  story  become  real,  with  all  the  incalculable  con- 
sequences that  may  flow  from  this  terrifying  miracle.  It 
is  at  such  moments  that  you  realize  that  the  iconolaters 
have  never  for  a  moment  conceived  Christ  as  a  real  per- 
son who  meant  what  he  said,  as  a  fact,  as  a  force  like 
electricity,  only  needing  the  invention  of  suitable  political 
machinery  to  be  applied  to  the  affairs  of  mankind  with 
revolutionary  effect. 

Thus  it  is  not  disbelief  that  is  dangerous  in  our  so- 
ciety: it  is  belief.  The  moment  it  strikes  you  (as  it 
may  any  day)  that  Christ  is  not  the  lifeless  harmless 
image  he  has  hitherto  been  to  you,  but  a  rallying  centre 
for  revolutionary  influences  which  all  established  States 
and  Churches  fight,  you  must  look  to  yourselves ;  for  you 
have  brought  the  image  to  life ;  and  the  mob  may  not  be 
able  to  bear  that  horror. 


Preface  Ixvii 

The  Alternative  to  Barabbas. 

But  mobs  must  be  faced  if  civilization  is  to  be  saved. 
It  did  not  need  the  present  vrar  to  shew  that  neither  the 
iconographic  Christ  nor  the  Christ  of  St.  Paul  has  suc- 
ceeded in  effecting  the  salvation  of  human  society. 
Whilst  I  write,  the  Turks  are  said  to  be  massacring  the 
Armenian  Christians  on  an  unprecedented  scale;  but 
Europe  is  not  in  a  position  to  remonstrate ;  for  her  Chris- 
tians are  slaying  one  another  by  every  device  which,  civil- 
ization has  put  within  their  reach  as  busily  as  they  are 
slaying  the  Turks.  Barabbas  is  triumphant  everywhere; 
and  the  final  use  he  makes  of  his  triumph  is  to  lead  us 
all  to  suicide  with  heroic  gestures  and  resounding  lies. 
Now  those  who,  like  myself,  see  the  Barabbasque  social 
organization  as  a  failure,  and  are  convinced  that  the  Life 
Force  (or  whatever  you  choose  to  call  it)  cannot  be  finally 
beaten  by  any  failure,  and  will  even  supersede  humanity 
by  evolving  a  higher  species  if  we  cannot  master  the  prob- 
lems raised  by  the  multiplication  of  our  own  numbers, 
have  always  known  that  Jesus  had  a  real  message,  and 
have  felt  the  fascination  of  his  character  and  doctrine. 
Not  that  we  should  nowadays  dream  of  claiming  any 
supernatural  authority  for  him,  much  less  the  technical 
authority  which  attaches  to  an  educated  modern  philos- 
opher and  jurist.  But  when,  having  entirely  got  rid  of 
Salvationist  Christianity,  and  even  contracted  a  preju- 
dice against  Jesus  on  the  score  of  his  involuntary  connec- 
tion with  it,  we  engage  on  a  purely  scientific  study  of 
economics,  criminology,  and  biology,  and  find  that  our 
practical  conclusions  are  virtually  those  of  Jesus,  we 
are  distinctly  pleased  and  encouraged  to  find  that  we 
were  doing  him  an  injustice,  and  that  the  nimbus  that 
surrounds  his  head  in  the  pictures  may  be  interpreted 
some  day  as  a  light  of  science  rather  than  a  declaration 
of  sentiment  or  a  label  of  idolatry. 


Ixviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

The  doctrines  in  which  Jesus  is  thus  confirmed  are, 
roughly,  the  following: 

1.  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you.  You  are  the 
son  of  God;  and  God  is  the  son  of  man.  God  is  a  spirit, 
to  be  worshipped  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  not  an  elderly 
gentleman  to  be  bribed  and  begged  from.  We  are  mem- 
bers one  of  another;  so  that  you  cannot  injure  or  help 
your  neighbor  without  injuring  or  helping  yourself.  God 
is  your  father:  you  are  here  to  do  God's  work;  and  you 
and  your  father  are  one. 

2.  Get  rid  of  property  by  throwing  it  into  the  com- 
mon stock.  Dissociate  your  work  entirely  from  money 
payments.  If  you  let  a  child  starve  you  are  letting  God 
starve.  Get  rid  of  all  anxiety  about  tomorrow's  dinner 
and  clothes,  because  you  cannot  serve  two  masters:  God 
and  Mammon. 

3.  Get  rid  of  judges  and  punishment  and  revenge. 
Love  your  neighbor  as  yourself,  he  being  a  part  of  your- 
self. And  love  your  enemies :  they  are  your  neighbors. 

4.  Get  rid  of  your  family  entanglements.  Every 
mother  you  meet  is  as  much  your  mother  as  the  woman 
who  bore  you.  Every  man  you  meet  is  as  much  your 
brother  as  the  man  she  bore  after  you.  Don't  waste  your 
time  at  family  funerals  grieving  for  your  relatives:  at- 
tend to  life,  not  to  death:  there  are  as  good  fish  in  the 
sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it,  and  better.  In  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  which,  as  aforesaid,  is  within  you,  there  is  no 
marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage,  because  you  cannot  de- 
vote your  life  to  two  divinities:  God  and  the  person  you 
are  married  to. 

Now  these  are  very  interesting  propositions ;  and  they 
become  more  interesting  every  day,  as  experience  and 
science  drive  us  more  and  more  to  consider  them  favor- 
ably. In  considering  them,  we  shall  waste  our  time  un- 
less we  give  them  a  reasonable  construction.  We  must 
assume  that  the  man  who  saw  his  way  through  such  a 


Preface  Ixix 

mass  of  popular  passion  and  illusion  as  stands  between 
us  and  a  sense  of  the  value  of  such  teaching  was  quite 
aware  of  all  the  objections  that  occur  to  an  average 
stockbroker  in  the  first  five  minutes.  It  is  true  that  the 
world  is  governed  to  a  considerable  extent  by  the  con- 
siderations that  occur  to  stockbrokers  in  the  first  five 
minutes;  but  as  the  result  is  that  the  world  is  so  badly 
governed  that  those  who  know  the  truth  can  hardly  bear 
to  live  in  it,  an  objection  from  an  average  stockbroker 
constitutes  in  itself  a  prima  facie  case  for  any  social 
reform. 

The  Reduction  to  Modern  Practice  of 
Christianity. 

All  the  same,  we  must  reduce  the  ethical  counsels  and 
proposals  of  Jesus  to  modern  practice  if  they  are  to  be  of 
any  use  to  us.  If  we  ask  our  stockbroker  to  act  simply 
as  Jesus  advised  his  disciples  to  act,  he  will  reply,  very 
justly,  "You  are  advising  me  to  become  a  tramp."  If 
we  urge  a  rich  man  to  sell  all  that  he  has  and  give  it  to 
the  poor,  he  will  inform  us  that  such  an  operation  is  im- 
possible. If  he  sells  his  shares  and  his  lands,  their  pur- 
chaser will  continue  all  those  activities  which  oppress  the 
poor.  If  all  the  rich  men  take  the  advice  simultaneously 
the  shares  will  fall  to  zero  and  the  lands  be  unsaleable. 
If  one  man  sells  out  and  throws  the  money  into  the  slums, 
the  only  result  will  be  to  add  himself  and  his  dependents 
to  the  list  of  the  poor,  and  to  do  no  good  to  the  poor  be- 
yond giving  a  chance  few  of  them  a  drunken  spree.  We 
must  therefore  bear  in  mind  that  whereas,  in  the  time  of 
Jesus,  and  in  the  ages  which  grew  darker  and  darker 
after  his  death  until  the  darkness,  after  a  brief  false 
dawn  in  the  Reformation  and  the  Renascence,  culminated 
in  the  commercial  night  of  the  nineteenth  century,  it  was 
believed  that  you  could  not  make  men  good  by  Act  of 


Ixx  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Parliament,  we  now  know  that  you  cannot  make  them 
good  in  any  other  way,  and  that  a  man  who  is  better  than 
his  fellows  is  a  nuisance.  The  rich  man  must  sell  up  not 
only  himself  but  his  whole  class;  and  that  can  be  done 
only  through  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  The  dis- 
ciple cannot  have  his  bread  without  money  until  there  is 
bread  for  everybody  without  money;  and  that  requires 
an  elaborate  municipal  organization  of  the  food  supply, 
rate  supported.  Being  members  one  of  another  means 
One  Man  One  Vote,  and  One  Woman  One  Vote,  and  uni- 
versal suffrage  and  equal  incomes  and  all  sorts  of  modern 
political  measures.  Even  in  Syria  in  the  time  of  Jesus 
his  teachings  could  not  possibly  have  been  realized  by  a 
series  of  independent  explosions  of  personal  righteous- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  separate  units  of  the  population. 
Jerusalem  could  not  have  done  what  even  a  village  com- 
munity cannot  do,  and  what  Robinson  Crusoe  himself 
could  not  have  done  if  his  conscience,  and  the  stern  com- 
pulsion of  Nature,  had  not  imposed  a  common  rule  on 
the  half  dozen  Robinson  Crusoes  who  struggled  within 
him  for  not  wholly  compatible  satisfactions.  And  what 
cannot  be  done  in  Jerusalem  or  Juan  Fernandez  cannot 
be  done  in  London,  New  York,  Paris,  and  Berlin. 

In  short,  Christianity,  good  or  bad,  right  or  wrong, 
must  perforce  be  left  out  of  the  question  in  human  affairs 
until  it  is  made  practically  applicable  to  them  by  compli- 
cated political  devices;  and  to  pretend  that  a  field 
preacher  under  the  governorship  of  Pontius  Pilate,  or 
even  Pontius  Pilate  himself  in  council  with  all  the  wisdom 
of  Rome,  could  have  worked  out  applications  of  Chris- 
tianity or  any  other  system  of  morals  for  the  twentieth 
century,  is  to  shelve  the  subject  much  more  effectually 
than  Nero  and  all  its  other  persecutors  ever  succeeded  in 
doing.  Personal  righteousness,  and  the  view  that  you 
cannot  make  people  moral  by  Act  of  Parliament,  is,  in 
fact,  the  favorite  defensive  resort  of  the  people  who,  con- 


Preface  Ixxi 

sciously  or  subconsciously,  are  quite  determined  not  to 
have  their  property  meddled  with  by  Jesus  or  any  other 
reformer. 

Modern  Communism. 

Now  let  us  see  what  modern  experience  and  modern 
sociology  has  to  say  to  the  teaching  of  Jesus  as  sum- 
marized on  page  Ixviii.  First,  get  rid  of  your  property  by 
throwing  it  into  the  common  stock.  One  can  hear  the 
Pharisees  of  Jerusalem  and  Chorazin  and  Bethsaida  say- 
ing, "My  good  fellow,  if  you  were  to  divide  up  the  wealth 
of  Judea  equally  today,  before  the  end  of  the  year  you 
would  have  rich  and  poor,  poverty  and  affluence,  just  as 
you  have  today ;  for  there  will  always  be  the  idle  and  the 
industrious,  the  thrifty  and  the  wasteful,  the  drunken 
and  the  sober;  and,  as  you  yourself  have  very  justly  ob- 
served, the  poor  we  shall  have  always  with  us."  And  we 
can  hear  the  reply,  "Woe  unto  you,  liars  and  hypocrites; 
for  ye  have  this  very  day  divided  up  the  wealth  of  the 
country  yourselves,  as  must  be  done  every  day  (for  man 
liveth  not  otherwise  than  from  hand  to  mouth,  nor  can 
fish  and  eggs  endure  for  ever)  ;  and  ye  have  divided  it 
unjustly;  also  ye  have  said  that  my  reproach  to  you  for 
having  the  poor  always  with  you  was  a  law  unto  you  that 
this  evil  should  persist  and  stink  in  the  nostrils  of  God 
to  all  eternity;  wherefore  I  think  that  Lazarus  will  yet 
see  you  beside  Dives  in  hell."  Modern  Capitalism  has 
made  short  work  of  the  primitive  pleas  for  inequality. 
The  Pharisees  themselves  have  organized  communism  in 
capital.  Joint  stock  is  the  order  of  the  day.  An  attempt 
to  return  to  individual  properties  as  the  basis  of  our  pro- 
duction would  smash  civilization  more  completely  than 
ten  revolutions.  You  cannot  get  the  fields  tilled  today 
until  the  farmer  becomes  a  co-operator.  Take  the  share- 
holder to  his  railway,  and  ask  him  to  point  out  to  you 


Ixxii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

the  particular  length  of  rail,  the  particular  seat  in  the 
railway  carriage,  the  particular  lever  in  the  engine  that 
is  his  very  own  and  nobody  elses;  and  he  will  shun  you 
as  a  madman,  very  wisely.  And  if,  like  Ananias  and 
Sapphira,  you  try  to  hold  back  your  little  shop  or  what 
not  from  the  common  stock,  represented  by  the  Trust,  or 
Combine,  or  Kartel,  the  Trust  will  presently  freeze  you 
out  and  rope  you  in  and  finally  strike  you  dead  indus- 
trially as  thoroughly  as  St.  Peter  himself.  There  is  no 
longer  any  practical  question  open  as  to  Communism  in 
production:  the  struggle  today  is  over  the  distribution  of 
the  product:  that  is,  over  the  daily  dividing-up  which  is 
the  fii'st  necessity  of  organized  society. 

Redistribution. 

Now  it  needs  no  Christ  to  convince  anybody  today  that 
our  system  of  distribution  is  wildly  and  monstrously 
wrong.  We  have  million-dollar  babies  side  by  side  with 
paupers  worn  out  by  a  long  life  of  unremitted  drudgery. 
One  person  in  every  five  dies  in  a  workhouse,  a  public 
hospital,  or  a  madhouse.  In  cities  like  London  the  pro- 
portion is  very  nearly  one  in  two.  Naturally  so  outrage- 
ous a  distribution  has  to  be  effected  by  violence  pure  and 
simple.  If  you  demur,  you  are  sold  up.  If  you  resist  the 
selling  up  you  are  bludgeoned  and  imprisoned,  the 
process  being  euphemistically  called  the  maintenance  of 
law  and  order.  Iniquity  can  go  no  further.  By  this  time 
nobody  who  knows  the  figures  of  the  distribution  defends 
them.  The  most  bigoted  British  Conservative  hesitates 
to  say  that  his  king  should  be  much  poorer  than  Mr. 
Rockefeller,  or  to  proclaim  the  moral  superiority  of 
prostitution  to  needlework  on  the  ground  that  it  pays 
better.  The  need  for  a  drastic  redistribution  of  income 
in  all  civilized  countries  is  now  as  obvious  and  as  gen- 
erally admitted  as  the  need  for  sanitation. 


Preface  Ixxiii 

Shall  He  Who  Makes,  Own. 

It  is  when  we  come  to  the  question  of  the  proportions 
in  which  we  are  to  redistribute  that  controversy  begins. 
We  are  bewildered  by  an  absurdly  unpractical  notion  that 
in  some  way  a  man's  income  should  be  given  to  him,  not 
to  enable  him  to  live,  but  as  a  sort  of  Sunday  School 
Prize  for  good  behavior.  And  this  folly  is  complicated 
by  a  less  ridiculous  but  quite  as  unpractical  belief  that  it 
is  possible  to  assign  to  each  person  the  exact  portion  of 
the  national  income  that  he  or  she  has  produced.  To  a 
child  it  seems  that  the  blacksmith  has  made  a  horse-shoe, 
and  that  therefore  the  horse-shoe  is  his.  But  the  black- 
smith knows  that  the  horse-shoe  does  not  belong  solely  to 
him,  but  to  his  landlord,  to  the  rate  collector  and  tax- 
gatherer,  to  the  men  from  whom  he  bought  the  iron  and 
anvil  and  the  coals,  leaving  only  a  scrap  of  its  value 
for  himself;  and  this  scrap  he  has  to  exchange  with  the 
butcher  and  baker  and  the  clothier  for  the  things  that  he 
really  appropriates  as  living  tissue  or  its  wrappings,  pay- 
ing for  all  of  them  more  than  their  cost;  for  these  fellow 
traders  of  his  have  also  their  landlords  and  moneylenders 
to  satisfy.  If,  then,  such  simple  and  direct  village  ex- 
amples of  apparent  individual  production  turn  out  on  a 
moment's  examination  to  be  the  products  of  an  elaborate 
social  organization,  what  is  to  be  said  of  such  products 
as  dreadnoughts,  factory-made  pins  and  needles,  and 
steel  pens?  If  God  takes  the  dreadnought  in  one  hand 
and  a  steel  pen  in  the  other,  and  asks  Job  who  made 
them,  and  to  whom  they  should  belong  by  maker's  right, 
Job  must  scratch  his  puzzled  head  with  a  potsherd  and 
be  dumb,  unless  indeed  it  strikes  him  that  God  is  the 
ultimate  maker,  and  that  all  we  have  a  right  to  do  with 
the  product  is  to  feed  his  lambs. 


Ixxiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Labor  Time. 

So  maker's  right  as  an  alternative  to  taking  the  advice 
of  Jesus  would  not  vpork.  In  practice  nothing  was  possi- 
ble in  that  direction  but  to  pay  a  worker  by  labor  time: 
so  much  an  hour  or  day  or  week  or  year.  But  how  much  ? 
When  that  question  came  up,  the  only  answer  was  "as 
little  as  he  can  be  starved  into  accepting/'  with  the 
ridiculous  results  already  mentioned,  and  the  additional 
anomaly  that  the  largest  share  went  to  the  people  who 
did  not  work  at  all,  and  the  least  to  those  who  worked 
hardest.  In  England  nine-tenths  of  the  wealth  goes  into 
the  pockets  of  one-tenth  of  the  population. 


The  Dream  of  Distribution  According 
to  Merit. 

Against  this  comes  the  protest  of  the  Sunday  School 
theorists  "Why  not  distribute  according  to  merit?"  Here 
one  imagines  Jesus,  whose  smile  has  been  broadening 
down  the  ages  as  attempt  after  attempt  to  escape  from 
his  teaching  has  led  to  deeper  and  deeper  disaster,  laugh- 
ing outright.  Was  ever  so  idiotic  a  project  mooted  as  the 
estimation  of  virtue  in  money.''  The  London  School  of 
Economics  is,  we  must  suppose,  to  set  examination  papers 
with  such  questions  as,  "Taking  the  money  value  of  the 
virtues  of  Jesus  as  100,  and  of  Judas  Iscariot  as  zero, 
give  the  correct  figures  for,  respectively,  Pontius  Pilate, 
the  proprietor  of  the  Gadarene  swine,  the  widow  who  put 
her  mite  in  the  poor-box,  Mr.  Horatio  Bottomley,  Shakes- 
pear,  Mr.  Jack  Johnson,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Palestrina, 
Offenbach,  Sir  Thomas  Lipton,  Mr.  Paul  Cinquevalli, 
your  family  doctor,  Florence  Nightingale,  Mrs.  Siddons, 
your  charwoman,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  the 
common  hangman."     Or  "The  late  Mr.  Barney  Barnato 


Preface  Ixxv 

received  as  his  lawful  income  three  thousand  times  as 
much  money  as  an  English  agricultural  laborer  of  good 
general  character.  Name  the  principal  virtues  in  which 
Mr.  Barnato  exceeded  the  laborer  three  thousandfold; 
and  give  in  figures  the  loss  sustained  by  civilization  when 
Mr.  Barnato  was  driven  to  despair  and  suicide  by  the  re- 
duction of  his  multiple  to  one  thousand."  The  Sunday 
School  idea,  with  its  principle  "to  each  the  income  he 
deserves"  is  really  too  silly  for  discussion.  Hamlet  dis- 
posed of  it  three  hundred  years  ago.  "Use  every  man 
after  his  deserts,  and  who  shall  scape  whipping?"  Jesus 
remains  unshaken  as  the  practical  man ;  and  we  stand  ex- 
posed as  the  fools,  the  blunderers,  the  unpractical  vision- 
aries. The  moment  you  try  to  reduce  the  Sunday  School 
idea  to  figures  you  find  that  it  brings  you  back  to  the 
hopeless  plan  of  paying  for  a  man's  time;  and  your  ex- 
amination paper  will  read  "The  time  of  Jesus  was  worth 
nothing  (he  complained  that  the  foxes  had  holes  and  the 
birds  of  the  air  nests  whilst  he  had  not  a  place  to  lay  his 
head).  Dr.  Crippen's  time  was  worth,  say,  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  a  year.  Criticize  this  arrangement; 
and,  if  you  dispute  its  justice,  state  in  pounds,  dollars, 
francs  and  marks,  what  their  relative  time  wages  ought 
to  have  been."  Your  answer  may  be  that  the  question 
is  in  extremely  bad  taste  and  that  you  decline  to  answer 
it.  But  you  cannot  object  to  being  asked  how  many 
minutes  of  a  bookmaker's  time  is  worth  two  hours  of  an 
astronomer's  ? 

Vital  Distribution. 

In  the  end  you  are  forced  to  ask  the  question  you 
should  have  asked  at  the  beginning.  What  do  you  give 
a  man  an  income  for?  Olaviously  to  keep  him  alive. 
Since  it  is  evident  that  the  first  condition  on  which  he  can 
be  kept  alive  without  enslaving  somebody  else  is  that  he 


Ixxvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

shall  produce  an  equivalent  for  what  it  costs  to  keep  him 
alive,  we  may  quite  rationally  compel  him  to  abstain  from 
idling  by  whatever  means  we  employ  to  compel  him  to 
abstain  from  murder,  arson,  forgery,  or  any  other  crime. 
The  one  supremely  foolish  thing  to  do  with  him  is  to  do 
nothing:  that  is,  to  be  as  idle,  lazy,  and  heartless  in  deal- 
ing with  him  as  he  is  in  dealing  with  us.  Even  if  we  pro- 
vided work  for  him  instead  of  basing,  as  we  do,  our  whole 
industrial  system  on  successive  competitive  waves  of  over- 
work with  their  ensiling  troughs  of  unemployment,  we 
should  still  sternly  deny  him  the  alternative  of  not  doing 
it;  for  the  result  must  be  that  he  will  become  poor  and 
make  his  children  poor  if  he  has  any;  and  poor  people 
are  cancers  in  the  commonwealth,  costing  far  more  than 
if  they  were  handsomely  pensioned  off  as  incurables. 
Jesus  had  more  sense  than  to  propose  anything  of  the 
sort.  He  said  to  his  disciples,  in  effect,  "Do  your  work 
for  love;  and  let  the  other  people  lodge  and  feed  and 
clothe  you  for  love."  Or,  as  we  should  put  it  nowadays, 
"for  nothing."  All  human  experience  and  all  natural  un- 
commercialized  human  aspiration  point  to  this  as  the 
right  path.  The  Greeks  said,  "First  secure  an  inde- 
pendent income;  and  then  practise  virtue."  We  all  strive 
towards  an  independent  income.  We  all  know  as  well 
as  Jesus  did  that  if  we  have  to  take  thought  for  the  mor- 
row as  to  whether  there  shall  be  anything  to  eat  or  drink 
it  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  think  of  nobler  things,  or 
live  a  higher  life  than  that  of  a  mole,  whose  life  is  from 
beginning  to  end  a  frenzied  pursuit  of  food.  Until  the 
community  is  organized  in  such  a  way  that  the  fear  of 
bodily  want  is  forgotten  as  completely  as  the  fear  of 
wolves  already  is  in  civilized  capitals,  we  shall  never  have 
a  decent  social  life.  Indeed  the  whole  attraction  of  our 
present  arrangements  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  do  relieve 
a  handful  of  us  from  this  fear;  bvit  as  the  relief  is  effected 
stupidly  and  wickedly  by  making  the   favored  handful 


Preface  Ixxvii 

parasitic  on  the  rest,  they  are  smitten  with  the  degeneracy 
which  seems  to  be  the  inevitable  biological  penalty  of 
complete  parasitism,  and  corrupt  culture  and  statecraft 
instead  of  contributing  to  them,  their  excessive  leisure 
being  as  mischievous  as  the  excessive  toil  of  the  laborers. 
Anyhow,  the  moral  is  clear.  The  two  main  problems  of 
organized  society,  how  to  secure  the  subsistence  of  all  its 
members,  and  how  to  prevent  the  theft  of  that  subsistence 
by  idlers,  should  be  entirely  dissociated;  and  the  practical 
failure  of  one  of  them  to  automatically  achieve  the  other 
recognized  and  acted  on.  We  may  not  all  have  Jesus's 
psychological  power  of  seeing,  without  any  enlightenment 
from  more  modern  economic  phenomena,  that  they  must 
fail;  but  we  have  the  hard  fact  before  us  that  they  do 
fail.  The  only  people  who  cling  to  the  lazy  delusion  that 
it  is  possible  to  find  a  just  distribution  that  will  work 
automatically  are  those  who  postulate  some  revolutionary 
change  like  land  nationalization,  which  by  itself  would 
obviously  only  force  into  greater  urgency  the  problem  of 
how  to  distribute  the  product  of  the  land  among  all  the 
individuals  in  the  community. 

Equal  Distribution. 

When  that  problem  is  at  last  faced,  the  question  of  the 
proportion  in  which  the  national  income  shall  be  dis- 
tributed can  have  only  one  answer.  All  our  shares  must 
be  equal.  It  has  always  been  so;  it  always  will  be  so. 
It  is  true  that  the  incomes  of  robbers  vary  considerably 
from  individual  to  individual;  and  the  variation  is  re- 
flected in  the  incomes  of  their  parasites.  The  com- 
mercialization of  certain  exceptional  talents  has  also  pro- 
duced exceptional  incomes,  direct  and  derivative.  Per- 
sons who  live  on  rent  of  land  and  capital  are  economi- 
cally, though  not  legally,  in  the  category  of  robbers,  and 
have  grotesquely  different  incomes.    But  in  the  huge  mass 


Ixxviii        Androcles  and  the  Lion 

of  mankind  variation  of  income  from  individual  to  in- 
dividual is  unknown,  because  it  is  ridiculously  imprac- 
ticable. As  a  device  for  persuading  a  carpenter  that  a 
judge  is  a  creature  of  superior  nature  to  himself,  to  be 
deferred  and  submitted  to  even  to  the  death,  we  may  give 
a  carpenter  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  and  a  judge  five 
thousand ;  but  the  wage  for  one  carpenter  is  the  wage  for 
all  the  carpenters:  the  salary  for  one  judge  is  the  salary 
for  all  the  judges. 

The  Captain  and  the  Cabin  Boy. 

Nothing,  therefore,  is  really  in  question,  or  ever  has 
been,  but  the  differences  between  class  incomes.  Already 
there  is  economic  equality  between  captains,  and  economic 
equality  between  cabin  boys.  What  is  at  issue  still  is 
whether  there  shall  be  economic  equality  between  cap- 
tains and  cabin  boys.  What  would  Jesus  have  said.''  Pre- 
sumably he  would  have  said  that  if  your  only  object  is 
to  produce  a  captain  and  a  cabin  boy  for  the  purpose  of 
transferring  you  from  Liverpool  to  New  York,  or  to 
manoeuvre  a  fleet  and  carry  powder  from  the  magazine 
to  the  gun,  then  you  need  give  no  more  than  a  shilling  to 
the  cabin  boy  for  every  pound  you  give  to  the  more  ex- 
pensively trained  captain.  But  if  in  addition  to  this  you 
desire  to  allow  the  two  human  souls  which  are  insepar- 
able from  the  captain  and  the  cabin  boy,  and  which  alone 
differentiate  them  from  the  donkey-engine,  to  develop  all 
their  possibilities,  then  you  may  find  the  cabin  boy  costing 
rather  more  than  the  captain,  because  cabin  boy's  work 
does  not  do  so  much  for  the  soul  as  captain's  work.  Con- 
sequently you  will  have  to  give  him  at  least  as  much  as 
the  captain  unless  you  definitely  wish  him  to  be  a  lower 
creature,  in  which  case  the  sooner  you  are  hanged  as  an 
abortionist  the  better.  That  is  the  fundamental  argu- 
ment. 


Preface  Ixxix 

The  Political  and  Biological  Objections 
to  Inequality. 

But  there  are  other  reasons  for  objecting  to  class  strati- 
fication of  income  which  have  heaped  themselves  up  since 
the  time  of  Jesus,  In  politics  it  defeats  every  form  of 
government  except  that  of  a  necessarily  corrupt  oli- 
garchy. Democracy  in  the  most  democratic  modern  re- 
publics: France  and  the  United  States  for  example,  is  an 
imposture  and  a  delusion.  It  reduces  justice  and  law  to 
a  farce:  law  becomes  merely  an  instrument  for  keeping 
the  poor  in  subjection;  and  accused  workmen  are  tried, 
not  by  a  jury  of  their  peers,  but  by  conspiracies  of  their 
exploiters.  The  press  is  the  press  of  the  rich  and  the 
curse  of  the  poor:  it  becomes  dangerous  to  teach  men  to 
read.  The  priest  becomes  the  mere  complement  of  the 
policeman  in  the  machinery  by  which  the  countryhouse 
oppresses  the  village.  Worst  of  all,  marriage  becomes  a 
class  affair:  the  infinite  variety  of  choice  which  nature 
offers  to  the  young  in  search  of  a  mate  is  narrowed  to  a 
handful  of  persons  of  similar  income;  and  beauty  and 
health  become  the  dreams  of  artists  and  the  advertise- 
ments of  quacks  instead  of  the  normal  conditions  of  life. 
Society  is  not  only  divided  but  actually  destroyed  in  all 
directions  by  inequality  of  income  between  classes:  such 
stability  as  it  has  is  due  to  the  huge  blocks  of  people  be- 
tween whom  there  is  equality  of  income. 

Jesus  as  Economist. 

It  seems  therefore  that  we  must  begin  by  holding  the 
right  to  an  income  as  sacred  and  equal,  just  as  we  now 
begin  by  holding  the  right  to  life  as  sacred  and  equal. 
Indeed  the  one  right  is  only  a  restatement  of  the  other. 
To  hang  me  for  cutting  a  dock  laborer's  throat  after 
making  much  of  me  for  leaving  him  to  starve  when  I  do 


Ixxx  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

not  happen  to  have  a  ship  for  him  to  unload  is  idiotic; 
for  as  he  does  far  less  mischief  with  his  throat  cut  than 
when  he  is  starving,  a  rational  society  would  esteem  the 
cutthroat  more  highly  than  the  capitalist.  The  thing  has 
become  so  obvious,  and  the  evil  so  unendurable,  that  if  our 
attempt  at  civilization  is  not  to  perish  like  all  the  pre- 
vious ones,  we  shall  have  to  organize  our  society  in  such 
a  way  as  to  be  able  to  say  to  every  person  in  the  land, 
"Take  no  thought,  saying  What  shall  we  eat?  or  What 
shall  we  drink?  or  Wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed?" 
We  shall  then  no  longer  have  a  race  of  men  whose  hearts 
are  in  their  pockets  and  safes  and  at  their  bankers.  As 
Jesus  said,  where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart 
be  also.  That  was  why  he  recommended  that  money 
should  cease  to  be  a  treasure,  and  that  we  should  take 
steps  to  make  ourselves  utterly  reckless  of  it,  setting  our 
minds  free  for  higher  uses.  In  other  words,  that  we 
should  all  be  gentlemen  and  take  care  of  our  country  be- 
cause our  country  takes  care  of  us,  instead  of  the  com- 
mercialized cads  we  are,  doing  everything  and  anything 
for  money,  and  selling  our  souls  and  bodies  by  the  pound 
and  the  inch  after  wasting  half  the  day  haggling  over  the 
price.  Decidedly,  whether  you  think  Jesus  was  God  or 
not,  you  must  admit  that  he  was  a  first-rate  political 
economist. 

Jesus  as  Biologist. 

He  was  also,  as  we  now  see,  a  first-rate  biologist.  It 
took  a  century  and  a  half  of  evolutionary  preachers,  from 
Buffon  and  Goethe  to  Butler  and  Bergson,  to  convince  us 
that  we  and  our  father  are  one;  that  as  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  within  us  we  need  not  go  about  looking  for  it 
and  crying  Lo  here!  and  Lo  there!;  that  God  is  not  a 
picture  of  a  pompous  person  in  white  robes  in  the  family 
Bible,  but  a  spirit;  that  it  is  through  this  spirit  that  we 


Preface  Ixxxi 

evolve  towards  greater  abundance  of  life ;  that  we  are  the 
lamps  in  which  the  light  of  the  world  burns :  that,  in 
short,  we  are  gods  though  we  die  like  men.  All  that  is 
today  sound  biology  and  psychology;  and  the  efforts  of 
Natural  Selectionists  like  Weismann  to  reduce  evolution 
to  mere  automatism  have  not  touched  the  doctrine  of 
Jesus,  though  they  have  made  short  work  of  the  the- 
ologians who  conceived  God  as  a  magnate  keeping  men 
and  angels  as  Lord  Rothschild  keeps  buffaloes  and  emus 
at  Tring. 

Money  the  Midwife  of  Scientific 
Communism. 

It  may  be  asked  here  by  some  simple-minded  reader 
why  we  sliould  not  resort  to  crude  Communism  as  the 
disciples  were  told  to  do.  This  would  be  quite  prac- 
ticable in  a  village  where  production  was  limited  to  the 
supply  of  the  primitive  wants  wliich  nature  imposes  on 
all  liuman  beings  alike.  We  know  that  people  need 
bread  and  boots  without  waiting  for  them  to  come  and  ask 
for  these  things  and  offer  to  pay  for  them.  But  when 
civilization  advances  to  the  point  at  which  articles  are 
produced  that  no  man  absolutely  needs  and  that  only 
some  men  fancy  or  can  use,  it  is  necessary  that  in- 
dividuals should  be  able  to  have  things  made  to  their 
order  and  at  their  own  cost.  It  is  safe  to  provide  bread 
for  everybody  because  everybody  wants  and  eats  bread ; 
but  it  would  be  absurd  to  provide  microscopes  and  trom- 
bones, pet  snakes  and  polo  mallets,  alembics  and  test 
tubes  for  everybody,  as  nine-tenths  of  them  would  be 
wasted;  and  the  nine-tenths  of  the  population  who  do  not 
use  such  things  would  object  to  their  being  provided  at 
all.  We  have  in  the  invaluable  instrument  called  money 
a  means  of  enabling  every  individual  to  order  and  pay  for 
6 


Ixxxii         Androcles  and  the  Lion 

the  particular  things  he  desires  over  and  above  the  things 
he  must  consume  in  order  to  remain  alive,  plus  the  things 
the  State  insists  on  his  having  and  using  whether  he  wants 
to  or  not;  for  example,  clothes,  sanitary  arrangements, 
armies  and  navies.  In  large  communities,  where  even  the 
most  eccentric  demands  for  manufactured  articles  aver- 
age themselves  out  until  they  can  be  foreseen  within  a 
negligible  margin  of  error,  direct  communism  (Take  what 
you  want  without  payment,  as  the  people  do  in  Morris's 
News  From  Nowhere)  will,  after  a  little  experience,  be 
found  not  only  practicable  but  highly  economical  to  an 
extent  that  now  seems  impossible.  The  sportsmen,  the 
musicians,  the  physicists,  the  biologists  will  get  their  ap- 
paratus for  the  asking  as  easily  as  their  bread,  or,  as  at 
present,  their  paving,  street  lighting,  and  bridges;  and 
the  deaf  man  will  not  object  to  contribute  to  communal 
flutes  when  the  musician  has  to  contribute  to  communal 
ear  trumpets.  There  are  cases  (for  example,  radium)  in 
which  the  demand  may  be  limited  to  the  merest  handful 
of  laboratory  workers,  and  in  which  nevertheless  the 
whole  commmiity  must  pay  because  the  price  is  beyond 
the  means  of  any  individual  worker.  But  even  when  the 
utmost  allowance  is  made  for  extensions  of  communism 
that  now  seem  fabulous,  there  will  still  remain  for  a  long 
time  to  come  regions  of  supply  and  demand  in  which  men 
will  need  and  use  money  or  individual  credit,  and  for 
which,  therefore,  they  must  have  individual  incomes. 
Foreign  travel  is  an  obvious  instance.  We  are  so  far 
from  even  national  communism  still,  that  we  shall  prob- 
ably have  considerable  developments  of  local  communism 
before  it  becomes  possible  for  a  Manchester  man  to  go 
up  to  London  for  a  day  without  taking  any  money  with 
him.  The  modern  practical  form  of  the  communism  of 
Jesus  is  therefore,  for  the  present,  equal  distribution  of 
the  surplus  of  the  national  income  that  is  not  absorbed  by 
simjole  communism. 


Preface  Ixxxiii 

Judge  Not. 

In  dealing  with  crime  and  the  family,  modern  thought 
and  experience  have  thrown  no  fresh  light  on  the  views 
of  Jesus.  When  Swift  had  occasion  to  illustrate  the  cor- 
ruption of  our  civilization  by  making  a  catalogue  of  the 
types  of  scoundrels  it  produces,  he  always  gave  judges 
a  conspicuous  place  alongside  of  them  they  judged.  And 
he  seems  to  have  done  this  not  as  a  restatement  of  the 
doctrine  of  Jesus,  but  as  the  outcome  of  his  own  observa- 
tion and  judgment.  One  of  Mr.  Gilbert  Chesterton's 
stories  has  for  its  hero  a  judge  who,  whilst  trying  a  crim- 
inal case,  is  so  overwhelmed  by  the  absurdity  of  his  posi- 
tion and  the  wickedness  of  the  things  it  forces  him  to 
do,  that  he  throws  off  the  ermine  there  and  then,  and  goes 
out  into  the  world  to  live  the  life  of  an  honest  man  in- 
stead of  that  of  a  cruel  idol.  There  has  also  been  a  prop- 
aganda of  a  soulless  stupidity  called  Determinism,  repre- 
senting man  as  a  dead  object  driven  hither  and  thither 
by  his  environment,  antecedents,  circumstances,  and  so 
forth,  which  nevertheless  does  remind  us  that  there  are 
limits  to  the  number  of  cubits  an  individual  can  add  to  his 
stature  morally  or  physically,  and  that  it  is  silly  as  well 
as  cruel  to  torment  a  man  five  feet  high  for  not  being  able 
to  pluck  fruit  that  is  within  the  reach  of  men  of  average 
height.  I  have  known  a  case  of  an  unfortunate  child 
being  beaten  for  not  being  able  to  tell  the  time  after 
receiving  an  elaborate  explanation  of  the  figures  on  a 
clock  dial,  the  fact  being  that  she  was  short-sighted  and 
could  not  see  them.  This  is  a  typical  illustration  of  the 
absurdities  and  cruelties  into  which  we  are  led  by  the 
counter-stupidity  to  Determinism:  the  doctrine  of  Free 
Will.  The  notion  that  people  can  be  good  if  they  like, 
and  that  you  should  give  them  a  powerful  additional 
motive  for  goodness  by  tormenting  them  when  they  do 
evil,  would  soon  reduce  itself  to  absurdity  if  its  applica- 


Ixxxiv        Androcles  and  the  Lion 

tion  were  not  kept  within  the  limits  which  nature  sets  to 
the  self-control  of  most  of  us.  Nobody  supposes  that  a 
man  with  no  ear  for  music  or  no  mathematical  faculty 
could  be  compelled  on  pain  of  death,  however  cruelly  in- 
flicted, to  hum  all  the  themes  of  Beethoven's  symphonies 
or  to  complete  Newton's  work  on  fluxions. 

Limits  to  Free  "Will. 

Consequently  such  of  our  laws  as  are  not  merely  the 
intimidations  by  which  tyrannies  are  maintained  under 
pretext  of  law,  can  be  obeyed  through  the  exercise  of  a 
quite  common  degree  of  reasoning  power  and  self-control. 
Most  men  and  women  can  endure  the  ordinary  annoy- 
ances and  disappointments  of  life  without  committing 
murderous  assaults.  They  conclude  therefore  that  any 
person  can  refrain  from  such  assaults  if  he  or  she  chooses 
to,  and  proceed  to  reinforce  self-control  by  threats  of 
severe  punishment.  But  in  this  they  are  mistaken.  There 
are  people,  some  of  them  possessing  considerable  powers 
of  mind  and  body,  who  can  no  more  restrain  the  fury  into 
which  a  trifling  mishap  throws  them  than  a  dog  can  re- 
strain himself  from  snapping  if  he  is  suddenly  and  pain- 
fully pinched.  People  fling  knives  and  lighted  paraffin 
lamps  at  one  another  in  a  dispute  over  a  dinner-table. 
Men  who  have  suffered  several  long  sentences  of  penal 
servitude  for  murderous  assaults  will,  the  very  day  after 
they  are  released,  seize  their  wives  and  cast  them  under 
drays  at  an  irritating  word.  We  have  not  only  people 
who  cannot  resist  an  opportunity  of  stealing  for  the  sake 
of  satisfying  their  wants,  but  even  people  who  have  a 
specific  mania  for  stealing,  and  do  it  when  they  are  in  no 
need  of  the  things  they  steal.  Burglary  fascinates  some 
men  as  sailoring  fascinates  some  boys.  Among  respect- 
able people  how  many  are  there  who  can  be  restrained 
by  the  warnings  of  their  doctors  and  the  lessons  of  ex- 


Preface  Ixxxv 

perience  from  eating  and  drinking  more  than  is  good  for 
them?  It  is  true  that  between  self-controlled  people  and 
ungovernable  people  there  is  a  narrow  margin  of  moral 
malingerers  who  can  be  made  to  behave  themselves  by  the 
fear  of  consequences ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while  maintain- 
ing an  abominable  system  of  malicious,  deliberate,  costly 
and  degrading  ill-treatment  of  criminals  for  the  sake  of 
these  marginal  cases.  For  practical  dealing  with  crime. 
Determinism  or  Predestination  is  quite  a  good  working 
rule.  People  without  self-control  enough  for  social  pur- 
poses may  be  killed,  or  may  be  kept  in  asylums  with  a 
view  to  studying  their  condition  and  ascertaining  whether 
it  is  curable.  To  torture  them  and  give  ourselves  virtu- 
ous airs  at  their  expense  is  ridiculous  and  barbarous ;  and 
the  desire  to  do  it  is  vindictive  and  cruel.  And  though 
vindictiveness  and  cruelty  are  at  least  human  qualities 
when  they  are  frankly  proclaimed  and  indulged,  they  are 
loathsome  when  they  assume  the  robes  of  Justice.  Which, 
I  take  it,  is  why  Shakespear's  Isabella  gave  such  a  dress- 
ing-down to  Judge  Angelo,  and  why  Swift  reserved  the 
hottest  corner  of  his  hell  for  judges.  Also,  of  course, 
why  Jesus  said  "Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged"  and 
"If  any  man  hear  my  words  and  believe  not,  I  judge  him 
not"  because  "he  hath  one  that  judgeth  him":  namely, 
the  Father  who  is  one  with  him. 

When  we  are  robbed  we  generally  appeal  to  the  crim- 
inal law,  not  considering  that  if  the  criminal  law  were  ef- 
fective we  should  not  have  been  robbed.  That  convicts 
us  of  vengeance. 

I  need  not  elaborate  the  argument  further.  I  have 
dealt  with  it  sufficiently  elsewhere.  I  have  only  to  point 
out  that  we  have  been  judging  and  punishing  ever  since 
Jesus  told  us  not  to;  and  I  defy  anyone  to  make  out  a 
convincing  case  for  believing  that  the  world  has  been  any 
better  than  it  would  have  been  if  there  had  never  been 
a  judge,  a  prison,  or  a  gallows  in  it  all  that  time.     We 


Ixxxvi        Androcles  and  the  Lion 

have  simply  added  the  misery  of  punishment  to  the 
misery  of  crime,  and  the  cruelty  of  the  judge  to  the 
cruelty  of  the  criminal.  We  have  taken  the  bad  man, 
and  made  him  worse  by  torture  and  degradation,  inci- 
dentally making  ourselves  worse  in  the  process.  It  does 
not  seem  very  sensible,  does  it?  It  would  have  been  far 
easier  to  kill  him  as  kindly  as  possible,  or  to  label  him 
and  leave  him  to  his  conscience,  or  to  treat  him  as  an  in- 
valid or  a  lunatic  is  now  treated  (it  is  only  of  late  years, 
by  the  way,  that  madmen  have  been  delivered  from  the 
whip,  the  chain,  and  the  cage)  ;  and  this,  I  presume,  is 
the  form  in  which  the  teaching  of  Jesus  could  have  been 
put  into  practice. 

Jesus  on  Marriage  and  the  Family. 

When  we  come  to  marriage  and  the  family,  we  find 
Jesus  making  the  same  objection  to  that  individual  appro- 
priation of  human  beings  which  is  the  essence  of  matri- 
mony as  to  the  individual  appropriation  of  wealth.  A 
married  man,  he  said,  will  try  to  please  his  wife,  and  a 
married  woman  to  please  her  husband,  instead  of  doing 
the  work  of  God,  This  is  another  version  of  "Where  your 
treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also."  Eighteen  hun- 
dred years  later  we  find  a  very  different  person  from 
Jesus,  Talleyrand  to  wit,  saying  the  same  thing.  A  mar- 
ried man  with  a  family,  said  Talleyrand,  will  do  anything 
for  money.  Now  this,  though  not  a  scientifically  precise 
statement,  is  true  enough  to  be  a  moral  objection  to  mar- 
riage. As  long  as  a  man  has  a  right  to  risk  his  life  or 
his  livelihood  for  his  ideas  he  needs  only  courage  and  con- 
viction to  make  his  integrity  unassailable.  But  he  for- 
feits that  right  when  he  marries.  It  took  a  revolution  to 
rescue  Wagner  from  his  Court  appointment  at  Dresden; 
and  his  wife  never  forgave  him  for  being  glad  and  feeling 
free  when  he  lost  it  and  threw  her  back  into  poverty. 


Preface  Ixxxvii 

Millet  might  have  gone  on  painting  potboiling  nudes  to 
the  end  of  his  life  if  his  wife  had  not  been  of  a  heroic 
turn  herself.  Women^  for  the  sake  of  their  children  and 
parents^  submit  to  slaveries  and  prostitutions  that  no  un- 
attached woman  would  endure. 

This  was  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  objection  of 
Jesus  to  marriage  and  family  ties^  and  the  explanation 
of  his  conception  of  heaven  as  a  place  where  there  should 
be  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  Now  there 
is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  when  he  said  this  he  did  not 
mean  it.  He  did  not,  as  St.  Paul  did  afterwards  in  his 
name,  propose  celibacy  as  a  rule  of  life ;  for  he  was  not  a 
fool,  nor,  when  he  denounced  marriage,  had  he  yet  come 
to  believe,  as  St.  Paul  did,  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
at  hand  and  there  was  therefore  no  more  need  to  re- 
plenish the  earth.  He  must  have  meant  that  the  race 
should  be  continued  without  dividing  with  women  and 
men  the  allegiance  the  individual  owes  to  God  within 
him.  This  raises  the  practical  problem  of  how  we  are 
to  secure  the  spiritual  freedom  and  integrity  of  the 
priest  and  the  nun  without  their  barrenness  and  uncom- 
pleted experience.  Luther  the  priest  did  not  solve  the 
problem  by  marrying  a  nun :  he  only  testified  in  the  most 
convincing  and  practical  way  to  the  fact  that  celibacy  was 
a  worse  failure  than  marriage. 

Why  Jesus  did  not  Marry. 

To  all  appearance  the  problem  oppresses  only  a  few 
exceptional  people.  Thoroughly  conventional  women 
married  to  thoroughly  conventional  men  should  not  be 
conscious  of  any  restriction:  the  chain  not  only  leaves 
them  free  to  do  Avhatever  they  want  to  do,  but  greatly 
facilitates  their  doing  it.  To  them  an  attack  on  mar- 
riage is  not  .1  blow  struck  in  defence  of  their  freedom 
but  at  their   rights   and  privileges.     One  would   expect 


Ixxxviii      Androcles  and  the  Lion 

that  they  would  not  only  demur  vehemently  to  the  teach- 
ings of  Jesus  in  this  matter,  but  object  strongly  to  his 
not  having  been  a  married  man  himself.  Even  those  who 
regard  him  as  a  god  descended  from  his  throne  in  heaven 
to  take  on  humanity  for  a  time  might  reasonably  declare 
that  the  assumption  of  humanity  must  have  been  incom- 
plete at  its  most  vital  point  if  he  were  a  celibate.  But 
the  facts  are  flatly  contrary.  The  mere  thought  of  Jesus 
as  a  married  man  is  felt  to  be  blasphemous  by  the  most 
conventional  believers;  and  even  those  of  us  to  whom 
Jesus  is  no  supernatural  personage,  but  a  prophet  only 
as  Mahomet  was  a  prophet,  feel  that  there  was  something 
more  dignified  in  the  bachelordom  of  Jesus  than  in  the 
spectacle  of  Mahomet  lying  distracted  on  the  floor  of  his 
harem  whilst  his  wives  stormed  and  squabbled  and  hen- 
pecked round  him.  We  are  not  surprised  that  when 
Jesus  called  the  sons  of  Zebedee  to  follow  him,  he  did 
not  call  their  father,  and  that  the  disciples,  like  Jesus 
himself,  were  all  men  without  family  entanglements.  It 
is  evident  from  his  impatience  when  people  excused 
themselves  from  following  him  because  of  their  family 
funerals,  or  when  they  assumed  that  his  first  duty  was 
to  his  mother,  that  he  had  found  family  ties  and  domestic 
affections  in  his  way  at  every  turn,  and  had  become  per- 
suaded at  last  that  no  man  could  follow  his  inner  light 
until  he  was  free  from  their  compulsion.  The  absence  of 
any  protest  against  this  tempts  us  to  declare  on  this 
question  of  marriage  there  are  no  conventional  people; 
and  that  everyone  of  us  is  at  heart  a  good  Christian 
sexually. 

Inconsistency  of  the  Sex  Instinct. 

But  the  question  is  not  so  simple  as  that.  Sex  is  an 
exceedingly  subtle  and  complicated  instinct;  and  the 
mass  of  mankind  neither  know  nor  care  much  about  free- 


Preface  Ixxxix 

dom  of  conscience,  which  is  what  Jesus  was  thinking 
about,  and  are  concerned  almost  to  obsession  with  sex, 
as  to  which  Jesus  said  nothing.  In  our  sexual  natures 
we  are  torn  by  an  irresistible  attraction  and  an  over- 
whelming repugnance  and  disgust.  We  have  two  tyran- 
nous physical  passions:  concupiscence  and  chastity.  We 
become  mad  in  pursuit  of  sex :  we  become  equally  mad  in 
the  persecution  of  that  pursuit.  Unless  we  gratify  our 
desire  the  race  is  lost:  unless  we  restrain  it  we  destroy 
ourselves.  We  are  thus  led  to  devise  marriage  institutions 
which  will  at  the  same  time  secure  opportunities  for  the 
gratification  of  sex  and  raise  up  innumerable  obstacles  to 
it;  which  will  sanctify  it  and  brand  it  as  infamous;  which 
will  identifj^  it  with  virtue  and  with  sin  simultaneously. 
Obviously  it  is  useless  to  look  for  any  consistency  in  such 
institutions;  and  it  is  only  by  continual  reform  and  re- 
adjustment, and  by  a  considerable  elasticity  in  their  en- 
forcement, that  a  tolerable  result  can  be  arrived  at.  I 
need  not  repeat  here  t]]e  long  and  elaborate  examination 
of  them  that  I  prefixed  to  my  play  entitled  Getting 
Married.  Here  I  am  concerned  only  with  the  views  of 
Jesus  on  the  question;  and  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to 
understand  the  attitude  of  the  world  towards  them,  that 
we  should  not  attribute  the  general  approval  of  the  de- 
cision of  Jesus  to  remain  unmarried  as  an  endorsement 
of  his  views.  We  are  simply  in  a  state  of  confusion  on 
the  subject;  but  it  is  part  of  the  confusion  that  we 
should  conclude  that  Jesus  was  a  celibate,  and  shrink 
even  from  the  idea  that  his  birth  was  a  natural  one,  yet 
cling  with  ferocity  to  the  sacredness  of  the  institution 
which  provides  a  refuge  from  celibacy. 

For  Better  for  Worse. 

Jesus,  however,  did  not  express  a  complicated  view  of 
marriage.     His  objection  to  it  was  quite  simple,  as  we 


xc  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

have  seen.  He  perceived  that  nobody  could  live  the 
higher  life  unless  money  and  sexual  love  were  obtainable 
without  sacrificing  it;  and  he  saw  that  the  effect  of  mar- 
riage as  it  existed  among  the  Jews  (and  as  it  still  exists 
among  ourselves)  was  to  make  the  couples  sacrifice  every 
higher  consideration  imtil  they  had  fed  and  pleased  one 
another.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  this  dangerous  pre- 
posterousness  in  marriage,  instead  of  improving  as  the 
general  conduct  of  married  couples  improves,  becomes 
much  worse.  The  selfish  man  to  whom  his  wife  is  noth- 
ing but  a  slave,  the  selfish  woman  to  whom  her  husband 
is  nothing  but  a  scapegoat  and  a  breadwinner,  are  not 
held  back  from  spiritual  or  any  other  adventures  by  fear 
of  tlieir  effect  on  the  welfare  of  their  mates.  Their  wives 
do  not  make  recreants  and  cowards  of  them:  their  hus- 
bands do  not  chain  them  to  the  cradle  and  the  cooking 
range  when  their  feet  should  be  beautiful  on  the  moun- 
tains. It  is  precisely  as  people  become  more  kindly,  more 
conscientious,  more  ready  to  shoulder  the  heavier  part 
of  the  burden  (which  means  that  the  strong  shall  give 
way  to  the  weak  and  the  slow  hold  back  the  swift),  that 
marriage  becomes  an  intolerable  obstacle  to  individual 
evolution.  And  that  is  why  the  revolt  against  marriage 
of  which  Jesus  was  an  exponent  always  recurs  when 
civilization  raises  the  standard  of  marital  duty  and  af- 
fection, and  at  the  same  time  produces  a  greater  need  for 
individual  freedom  in  pursuit  of  a  higher  evolution. 

The  Remedy. 

This,  fortunately,  is  only  one  side  of  marriage ;  and  the 
question  arises,  can  it  not  be  eliminated?  The  reply  is 
reassuring:  of  course  it  can.  There  is  no  mortal  reason 
in  the  nature  of  things  why  a  married  couple  should  be 
economically  dependent  on  one  another.  The  Commun- 
ism advocated  by  Jesus,  which  we  have  seen  to  be  en- 


Preface  xci 

tirely  practicable,  and  indeed  inevitable  if  our  civilization 
is  to  be  saved  from  collapse,  gets  rid  of  that  difficulty 
completely.  And  with  the  economic  dependence  will  go 
the  force  of  the  outrageous  claims  that  derive  their  real 
sanction  from  the  economic  pressure  behind  them.  When 
a  man  allows  his  wife  to  turn  him  from  the  best  work  he 
is  capable  of  doing,  and  to  sell  his  soul  at  the  highest 
commercial  prices  obtainable;  when  he  allows  her  to  en- 
tangle him  in  a  social  routine  that  is  wearisome  and  de- 
bilitating to  him,  or  tie  him  to  her  apron  strings  when  he 
needs  that  occasional  solitude  which  is  one  of  the  most 
sacred  of  human  rights,  he  does  so  because  he  has  no 
right  to  impose  eccentric  standards  of  expenditure  and 
unsocial  habits  on  her,  and  because  these  conditions  have 
produced  by  their  pressure  so  general  a  custom  of  chain- 
ing wedded  couples  to  one  another  that  married  people 
are  coarsely  derided  when  tlieir  partners  break  the  chain. 
And  when  a  woman  is  condemned  by  her  parents  to  wait 
in  genteel  idleness  and  uselessness  for  a  husband  when 
all  her  healtliy  social  instincts  call  her  to  acquire  a  pro- 
fession and  work,  it  is  again  her  economic  dependence  on 
them  that  makes  their  tyranny  effective. 

The  Case  for  Marriage. 

Thus,  though  it  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  every- 
thing that  is  obnoxious  in  marriage  and  family  life  will 
be  cured  by  Communism,  yet  it  can  be  said  that  it  will 
cure  what  Jesus  objected  to  in  these  institutions.  He 
made  no  comprehensive  study  of  them:  he  only  expressed 
his  own  grievance  with  an  overwhelming  sense  that  it  is 
a  grievance  so  deep  that  all  the  considerations  on  the 
other  side  are  as  dust  in  the  balance.  Obviously  there 
are  such  considerations,  and  very  weighty  ones  too. 
When  Talleyrand  said  that  a  married  man  with  a  family 
is  capable  of  anything,  he  meant  anything  evil;  but  an 


xcii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

optimist  may  declare,  with  equal  half  truth,  that  a  mar- 
ried man  is  capable  of  anything  good;  that  marriage  turns 
vagabonds  into  steady  citizens ;  and  that  men  and  women 
will,  for  love  of  their  mates  and  children,  practise  virtues 
that  unattached  individuals  are  incapable  of.  It  is  true 
that  too  much  of  this  domestic  virtue  is  self-denial,  which 
is  not  a  virtue  at  all;  but  then  the  following  of  the  inner 
light  at  all  costs  is  largely  self-indulgence,  which  is  just 
as  suicidal,  just  as  weak,  just  as  cowardly  as  self-denial. 
Ibsen,  who  takes  us  into  the  matter  far  more  resolutely 
than  Jesus,  is  unable  to  find  any  golden  rule:  both  Brand 
and  Peer  Gynt  come  to  a  bad  end ;  and  though  Brand 
does  not  do  as  much  mischief  as  Peer,  the  mischief  he 
does  do  is  of  extraordinary  intensity. 

Celibacy  no  Remedy. 

We  must,  I  think,  regard  the  protest  of  Jesus  against 
marriage  and  family  ties  as  the  claim  of  a  particular  kind 
of  individual  to  be  free  from  them  because  they  hamper 
his  own  work  intolerably.  When  he  said  that  if  we  are 
to  follow  him  in  the  sense  of  taking  up  his  work  we  must 
give  up  our  family  ties,  he  was  simply  stating  a  fact ;  and 
to  this  day  the  Roman  Catholic  priest,  the  Buddhist  lama, 
and  the  fakirs  of  all  the  eastern  denominations  accept  the 
saying.  It  is  also  accepted  by  the  physically  enterpris- 
ing, the  explorers,  the  restlessly  energetic  of  all  kinds: 
in  short,  by  the  adventurous.  The  greatest  sacrifice  in 
marriage  is  the  sacrifice  of  the  adventurous  attitude  to- 
wards life:  the  being  settled.  Those  who  are  born  tired 
may  crave  for  settlement;  but  to  fresher  and  stronger 
spirits  it  is  a  form  of  suicide. 

Now  to  say  of  any  institution  that  it  is  incompatible 
with  both  the  contemplative  and  adventurous  life  is  to 
disgrace  it  so  vitally  that  all  the  moralizings  of  all  the 
Deans   and  Chapters   cannot   reconcile  our   souls  to  its 


Preface  xciii 

slavery.  The  unmarried  Jesus  and  the  unmarried  Bee- 
thoven, the  unmarried  Joan  of  Arc,  Clare,  Teresa,  Flor- 
ence Nightingale  seem  as  they  should  be ;  and  the  saying 
that  there  is  always  something  ridiculous  about  a  mar- 
ried philosopher  becomes  inevitable.  And  yet  the  celibate 
is  still  more  ridiculous  than  the  married  man :  the  priest, 
in  accepting  the  alternative  of  celibacy,  disables  himself ; 
and  the  best  priests  are  those  who  have  been  men  of  this 
world  before  they  became  men  of  the  world  to  come. 
But  as  the  taking  of  vows  does  not  annul  an  existing  mar- 
riage, and  a  married  man  cannot  become  a  priest,  we  are 
again  confronted  with  the  absurdity  that  the  best  priest 
is  a  reformed  rake.  Thus  does  marriage,  itself  intoler- 
able, thrust  us  upon  intolerable  alternatives.  The  prac- 
tical solution  is  to  make  the  individual  economically  in- 
dependent of  marriage  and  the  family,  and  to  make  mar- 
riage as  easily  dissoluble  as  any  other  partnership:  in 
other  words,  to  accept  the  conclusions  to  which  experi- 
ence is  slowly  driving  both  our  sociologists  and  our  legis- 
lators. This  will  not  instantly  cure  all  the  evils  of  mar- 
riage, nor  root  up  at  one  stroke  its  detestable  tradition  of 
property  in  human  bodies.  But  it  will  leave  Nature  free 
to  effect  a  cure ;  and  in  free  soil  the  root  may  wither  and 
perish. 

This  disposes  of  all  the  opinions  and  teachings  of 
Jesus  which  are  still  matters  of  controversy.  They  are 
all  in  line  with  the  best  modern  thought.  He  told  us  what 
we  have  to  do ;  and  we  have  had  to  find  the  way  to  do  it. 
Most  of  us  are  still,  as  most  were  in  his  own  time,  ex- 
tremely recalcitrant,  and  are  being  forced  along  that 
way  by  painful  pressure  of  circumstances,  protesting  at 
every  step  that  nothing  will  induce  us  to  go;  that  it  is 
a  ridiculous  way,  a  disgraceful  way,  a  socialistic  way,  an 
atheistic  way,  an  immoral  way,  and  that  the  vanguard 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves  and  must  be  made  to 
turn  back  at  once.     But  they  find  that  they  have  to  fol- 


xciv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

low  the  vanguard  all  the  same  if  their  lives  are  to  be 
worth  living. 

After  the  Crucifixion. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  New  Testament  narrative ;  for 
what  happened  after  the  disappearance  of  Jesus  is  in- 
structive. Unfortunately,  the  crucifixion  was  a  complete 
political  success.  I  remember  that  when  I  described  it 
in  these  terms  once  before,  I  greatly  shocked  a  most  re- 
spectable newspaper  in  my  native  town,  the  Dublin  Daily 
Express,  because  my  journalistic  phrase  shewed  that  I 
was  treating  it  as  an  ordinary  event  like  Home  Rule  or 
the  Insurance  Act:  that  is  (though  this  did  not  occur  to 
the  editor),  as  a  real  event  which  had  really  happened, 
instead  of  a  portion  of  the  Church  service.  I  can  only 
repeat,  assuming  as  I  am  that  it  was  a  real  event  and  did 
actually  happen,  that  it  was  as  complete  a  success  as  any 
in  history.  Christianity  as  a  specific  doctrine  was  slain 
with  Jesus,  suddenly  and  utterly.  He  was  hardly  cold 
in  his  grave,  or  high  in  his  heaven  (as  you  please),  before 
the  apostles  dragged  the  tradition  of  him  down  to  the 
level  of  the  thing  it  has  remained  ever  since.  And  that 
thing  the  intelligent  heathen  may  study,  if  they  would 
be  instructed  in  it  by  modern  books,  in  Samuel  Butler's 
novel.  The  Way  of  All  Flesh. 

The  Vindictive  Miracles  and  the 
Stoning  of  Stephen. 

Take,  for  example,  the  miracles.  Of  Jesus  alone  of  all 
the  Christian  miracle  workers  there  is  no  record,  except 
in  certain  gospels  that  all  men  reject,  of  a  malicious  or 
destructive  miracle.  A  barren  fig-tree  was  the  only  vic- 
tim of  his  anger.     Every  one  of  his  miracles  on  sentient 


Preface  xcv 

subjects  was  an  act  of  kindness.  John  declares  that  he 
healed  the  wound  of  the  man  whose  ear  was  cut  off  (by 
Peter^  John  says)  at  the  arrest  in  the  garden.  One  of 
the  first  things  the  apostles  did  with  their  miraculous 
power  was  to  strike  dead  a  wretched  man  and  his  wife 
who  had  defrauded  them  by  holding  back  some  money 
from  the  common  stock.  They  struck  people  blind  or 
dead  without  remorse,  judging  because  they  had  been 
judged.  They  healed  the  sick  and  raised  the  dead  ap- 
parently in  a  spirit  of  pure  display  and  advertisement. 
Their  doctrine  did  not  contain  a  ray  of  that  light  which 
reveals  Jesus  as  one  of  the  redeemers  of  men  from  folly 
and  error.  They  cancelled  him,  and  went  back  straight 
to  Joim  the  Baptist  and  his  formula  of  securing  remis- 
sion of  sins  by  repentance  and  the  rite  of  baptism  (being 
born  again  of  water  and  the  spirit).  Peter's  first 
harangue  softens  us  by  tlic  human  touch  of  its  exordium, 
which  was  a  quaint  assurance  to  his  hearers  that  they 
must  believe  him  to  be  sober  because  it  was  too  early  in 
the  day  to  get  drunk;  but  of  Jesus  he  had  nothing  to 
say  except  that  he  was  the  Christ  foretold  by  the  prophets 
as  coming  from  the  seed  of  David,  and  that  they  must 
believe  this  and  be  baptized.  To  this  the  other  apostles 
added  incessant  denunciations  of  the  Jews  for  having 
crucified  him,  and  threats  of  the  destruction  that  would 
overtake  them  if  they  did  not  repent :  that  is,  if  they  did 
not  join  the  sect  which  the  apostles  were  now  forming. 
A  quite  intolerable  young  speaker  named  Stephen  de- 
livered an  oration  to  the  council,  in  which  he  first  in- 
flicted on  them  a  tedious  sketch  of  the  history  of  Israel, 
with  which  they  were  presumably  as  well  acquainted  as 
he,  and  then  reviled  them  in  the  most  insulting  terms  as 
"stiffnccked  and  uncircumcized."  Finally,  after  boring 
and  annojdng  them  to  the  utmost  bearable  extremity,  he 
looked  up  and  declared  that  he  saw  the  heavens  open, 
and  Christ  standing  on  the  right  hand  of  God.    This  was 


xcvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

too  much:  they  threw  him  out  of  the  city  and  stoned  him 
to  death.  It  was  a  severe  way  of  suppressing  a  tactless 
and  conceited  bore;  but  it  was  pardonable  and  human 
in  comparison  to  the  slaughter  of  poor  Ananias  and 
Sapphira. 

Paul. 

Suddenly  a  man  of  genius,  Paul,  violently  anti-Chris- 
tian^ enters  on  the  scene,  holding  the  clothes  of  the  men 
who  are  stoning  Stephen.  He  persecutes  the  Christians 
with  great  vigor,  a  sport  which  he  combines  with  the 
business  of  a  tentmaker.  This  temperamental  hatred  of 
Jesus,  whom  he  has  never  seen,  is  a  pathological  symp- 
tom of  that  particular  sort  of  conscience  and  nervous  con- 
stitution which  brings  its  victims  under  the  tyranny  of 
two  delirious  terrors :  the  terror  of  sin  and  the  terror  of 
death,  which  may  be  called  also  the  terror  of  sex  and  the 
terror  of  life.  Now  Jesus^  with  his  healthy  conscience 
on  his  higher  plane,  was  free  from  these  terrors.  He  con- 
sorted freely  with  sinners,  and  was  never  concerned  for 
a  moment,  as  far  as  we  know,  about  whether  his  conduct 
was  sinful  or  not;  so  that  he  has  forced  us  to  accept  him 
as  the  man  without  sin.  Even  if  we  reckon  his  last  days 
as  the  days  of  his  delusion,  he  none  the  less  gave  a 
fairly  convincing  exhibition  of  superiority  to  the  fear  of 
death.  This  must  have  both  fascinated  and  horrified 
Paul,  or  Saul,  as  he  was  first  called.  The  horror  accounts 
for  his  fierce  persecution  of  the  Christians.  The  fascina- 
tion accounts  for  the  strangest  of  his  fancies:  the  fancy 
for  attaching  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  to  the  great  idea 
which  flashed  upon  hira  on  the  road  to  Damascus,  the  idea 
that  he  could  not  only  make  a  religion  of  his  two  terrors, 
but  that  the  movement  started  by  Jesus  offered  him  the 
nucleus  for  his  new  Church.  It  was  a  monstrous  idea; 
and  the  shocks  of  it,  as  he  afterwards  declared,  struck 
him  blind  for  days.     He  heard  Jesus  calling  to  him  from 


Preface  xcvii 

the  clouds,  "Why  persecute  me?"  His  natural  hatred  of 
the  teacher  for  whom  Sin  and  Death  had  no  terrors 
turned  into  a  wild  personal  worship  of  him  which  has 
the  ghastliness  of  a  beautiful  thing  seen  in  a  false  light. 
The  chronicler  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  sees  nothing 
of  the  significance  of  this.  The  great  danger  of  conver- 
sion in  all  ages  has  been  that  when  the  religion  of  the 
high  mind  is  offered  to  the  lower  mind,  the  lower  mind, 
feeling  its  fascination  without  understanding  it,  and  be- 
ing incapable  of  rising  to  it,  drags  it  down  to  its  level  by 
degrading  it.  Years  ago  I  said  that  the  conversion  of  a 
savage  to  Christianity  is  the  conversion  of  Christianity 
to  savagery.  The  conv^ersion  of  Paiil  was  no  conver- 
sion at  all:  it  was  Paul  who  converted  the  religion  that 
had  raised  one  man  above  sin  and  death  into  a  religion 
that  delivered  millions  of  men  so  completely  into  their 
dominion  that  their  own  common  nature  became  a  horror 
to  them,  and  the  religious  life  became  a  denial  of  life. 
Paul  had  no  intention  of  surrendering  either  his  Judaism 
or  his  Roman  citizenship  to  the  new  moral  world  (as 
Robert  Owen  called  it)  of  Communism  and  Jesuism.  Just 
as  in  the  XIX  century  Karl  Marx,  not  content  to  take 
political  economy  as  he  found  it,  insisted  on  rebuilding 
it  from  the  bottom  upwards  in  his  own  way,  and  thereby 
gave  a  new  lease  of  life  to  the  errors  it  was  just  outgrow- 
ing, so  Paul  reconstructed  the  old  Salvationism  from 
which  Jesus  had  vainly  tried  to  redeem  him,  and  pro- 
duced a  fantastic  theology  which  is  still  the  most  amazing 
thing  of  the  kind  known  to  us.  Being  intellectually  an 
inveterate  Roman  Rationalist,  always  discarding  the  ir- 
rational real  thing  for  the  unreal  but  ratiocinable  postu- 
late, he  began  by  discarding  Man  as  he  is,  and  substituted 
a  postulate  which  he  called  Adam.  And  when  he  was 
asked,  as  he  surely  must  have  been  in  a  world  not  wholly 
mad,  Avhat  had  become  of  the  natural  man,  he  replied 
"Adam  is  the  natural  man."  This  was  confusing  to  sim- 
7 


xcviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

pletons,  because  according  to  tradition  Adam  was  cer- 
tainly the  name  of  the  natural  man  as  created  in  the 
garden  of  Eden.  It  was  as  if  a  preacher  of  our  own 
time  had  described  as  typically  British  Frankenstein's 
monster,  and  called  him  Smith,  and  somebody,  on  de- 
manding what  about  the  man  in  the  street,  had  been  told 
"Smith  is  the  man  in  the  street,"  The  thing  happens 
often  enough;  for  indeed  the  world  is  full  of  these  Adams 
and  Smiths  and  men  in  the  street  and  average  sensual 
men  and  economic  men  and  womanly  women  and  what 
not,  all  of  them  imaginary  Atlases  carrying  imaginary 
worlds  on  their  unsubstantial  shoulders. 

The  Eden  story  provided  Adam  with  a  sin:  the  "orig- 
inal sin"  for  which  we  are  all  damned.  Baldly  stated, 
this  seems  ridiculous;  nevertheless  it  corresponds  to 
something  actually  existent  not  only  in  Paul's  conscious- 
ness but  in  our  own.  The  original  sin  was  not  the  eating 
of  the  forbidden  fruit,  but  the  consciousness  of  sin  which 
the  fruit  produced.  The  moment  Adam  and  Eve  tasted 
the  apple  they  found  themselves  ashamed  of  their  sexual 
relation,  which  until  then  had  seemed  quite  innocent  to 
them ;  and  there  is  no  getting  over  the  hard  fact  that  this 
shame,  or  state  of  sin,  has  persisted  to  this  day,  and  is 
one  of  the  strongest  of  our  instincts.  Thus  Paul's  pos- 
tulate of  Adam  as  the  natural  man  was  pragmatically 
true :  it  worked.  But  the  weakness  of  Pragmatism  is  that 
most  theories  will  work  if  you  put  your  back  into  making 
them  work,  provided  they  have  some  point  of  contact 
with  human  nature.  Hedonism  will  pass  the  pragmatic 
test  as  well  as  Stoicism.  Up  to  a  certain  point  every 
social  principle  that  is  not  absolutely  idiotic  works: 
Autocracy  works  in  Russia  and  Democracy  in  America; 
Atheism  works  in  France,  Polytheism  in  India,  Monothe- 
ism throughout  Islam,  and  Pragmatism,  or  No-ism,  in 
England.  Paul's  fantastic  conception  of  the  damned 
Adam,  represented  by  Bunyan  as  a  pilgrim  with  a  great 


Preface  xcix 

burden  of  sins  on  his  back,  corresponded  to  the  funda- 
mental condition  of  evolution,  which  is,  that  life,  includ- 
ing human  life,  is  continually  evolving,  and  must  there- 
fore be  continually  ashamed  of  itself  and  its  present  and 
past.  Bunyan's  pilgrim  wants  to  get  rid  of  his  bundle 
of  sins;  but  he  also  wants  to  reach  "yonder  shining 
light ;"  and  when  at  last  his  bundle  falls  off  him  into  the 
sepulchre  of  Christ,  his  pilgrimage  is  still  unfinished  and 
his  hardest  trials  still  ahead  of  him.  His  conscience  re- 
mains uneasy;  "original  sin"  still  torments  him;  and  his 
adventure  with  Giant  Despair,  who  throws  him  into  the 
dungeon  of  Doubting  Castle,  from  which  he  escapes  by 
the  use  of  a  skeleton  key,  is  more  terrible  than  any  he 
met  whilst  the  bundle  was  still  on  his  back.  Thus  Bun- 
yan's allegory  of  human  nature  breaks  through  the 
Pauline  theology  at  a  hundred  points.  His  theological 
allegory.  The  Holy  War,  with  its  troops  of  Election 
Doubters,  and  its  cavalry  of  "those  that  rode  Reforma- 
does,"  is,  as  a  whole,  absurd,  impossible,  and,  except  in 
passages  where  the  artistic  old  Adam  momentarily  got 
the  better  of  the  Salvationist  theologian,  hardly  readable. 
Paul's  theory  of  original  sin  was  to  some  extent 
idiosyncratic.  He  tells  us  definitely  that  he  finds  him- 
self quite  well  able  to  avoid  the  sinfulness  of  sex  by  prac- 
tising celibacy ;  but  he  recognizes,  rather  contemptuously, 
that  in  this  respect  he  is  not  as  other  men  are,  and  says 
that  they  had  better  marry  than  burn,  thus  admitting  that 
though  marriage  may  lead  to  placing  the  desire  to  please 
wife  or  husband  before  the  desire  to  please  God,  yet  pre- 
occupation with  unsatisfied  desire  may  be  even  more  un- 
godly than  preoccupation  with  domestic  affection.  This 
view  of  the  case  inevitably  led  him  to  insist  that  a  wife 
should  be  rather  a  slave  than  a  partner,  her  real  function 
being,  not  to  engage  a  man's  love  and  loyalty,  but  on  the 
contrary  to  release  them  for  God  by  relieving  the  man 
of  all  preoccupation  with  sex  just  as  in  her  capacity  of 


c  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

housekeeper  and  cook  she  relieves  his  preoccupation  with 
hunger  by  the  simple  expedient  of  satisfying  his  appetite. 
This  slavery  also  justifies  itself  pragmatically  by  work- 
ing effectively;  but  it  has  made  Paul  the  eternal  enemy  of 
Woman.  Incidentally  it  has  led  to  many  foolish  sur- 
mises about  Paul's  personal  character  and  circumstances, 
by  people  so  enslaved  by  sex  that  a  celibate  appears  to 
them  a  sort  of  monster.  They  forget  that  not  only  whole 
priesthoods,  official  and  unofficial,  from  Paul  to  Carlyle 
and  Ruskin,  have  defied  the  tyranny  of  sex,  but  immense 
numbers  of  ordinary  citizens  of  both  sexes  have,  either 
voluntarily  or  under  pressure  of  circumstances  easily 
surmountable,  saved  their  energies  for  less  primitive 
activities. 

Howbeit,  Paul  succeeded  in  stealing  the  image  of 
Christ  crucified  for  the  figure-head  of  his  Salvationist 
vessel,  with  its  Adam  posing  as  the  natural  man,  its  doc- 
trine of  original  sin,  and  its  damnation  avoidable  only 
by  faith  in  the  sacrifice  of  the  cross.  In  fact,  no  sooner 
had  Jesus  knocked  over  the  dragon  of  superstition  than 
Paul  boldly  set  it  on  its  legs  again  in  the  name  of  Jesus. 

The  Confusion  of  Christendom. 

Now  it  is  evident  that  two  religions  having  such  con- 
trary effects  on  mankind  should  not  be  confused  as  they 
are  under  a  common  name.  There  is  not  one  word  of  Paul- 
ine Christianity  in  the  characteristic  utterances  of  Jesus. 
When  Saul  watched  the  clothes  of  the  men  who  stoned 
Stephen,  he  was  not  acting  upon  beliefs  which  Paul  re- 
nounced. There  is  no  record  of  Christ's  having  ever  said 
to  any  man:  "Go  and  sin  as  much  as  you  like:  you  can 
put  it  all  on  me."  He  said  "Sin  no  more,"  and  insisted 
that  he  was  putting  up  the  standard  of  conduct,  not  de- 
basing it,  and  that  the  righteousness  of  the  Christian 
must  exceed  that  of  the  Scribe  and  Pharisee.   The  notion 


Preface  ci 

that  he  was  shedding  his  blood  in  order  that  every  petty 
cheat  and  adulterator  and  libertine  might  wallow  in  it 
and  come  out  whiter  than  snow,  cannot  be  imputed  to  him 
on  his  own  authority.  "I  come  as  an  infallible  patent 
medicine  for  bad  consciences"  is  not  one  of  the  sayings 
in  the  gospels.  If  Jesus  could  have  been  consulted  on 
Bxxnyan's  allegory  as  to  that  business  of  the  burden  of 
sin  dropping  from  the  pilgrim's  back  when  he  caught 
sight  of  the  cross,  we  must  infer  from  his  teaching  that 
he  would  have  told  Bunyan  in  forcible  terms  that  he  had 
never  made  a  greater  mistake  in  his  life,  and  that  the 
business  of  a  Christ  was  to  make  self-satisfied  sinners  feel 
the  burden  of  their  sins  and  stop  committing  them  in- 
stead of  assuring  them  that  they  could  not  help  it,  as  it 
was  all  Adam's  fault,  but  that  it  did  not  matter  as  long 
as  they  were  credulous  and  friendly  about  himself.  Even 
when  he  believed  himself  to  be  a  god,  he  did  not  regard 
himself  as  a  scapegoat.  He  was  to  take  away  the  sins 
of  the  world  by  good  government,  by  justice  and  mercy, 
by  setting  the  welfare  of  little  children  above  the  pride  of 
princes,  by  casting  all  the  quackeries  and  idolatries  which 
now  usurp  and  malversate  the  power  of  God  into  what 
our  local  authorities  quaintly  call  the  dust  destructor, 
and  by  riding  on  the  clouds  of  heaven  in  glory  instead 
of  in  a  thousand-guinea  motor  car.  That  was  delirious, 
if  you  like;  but  it  was  the  delirium  of  a  free  soul,  not  of 
a  shamebound  one  like  Paul's.  There  has  really  never 
been  a  more  monstrous  imposition  perpetrated  than  the 
imposition  of  the  limitations  of  Paul's  soul  upon  the  soul 
of  Jesus. 

The  Secret  of  Paul's  Success. 

Paul  must  soon  have  found  that  his  followers  had 
gained  peace  of  mind  and  victory  over  death  and  sin  at 
the  cost  of  all  moral  responsibility;  for  he  did  his  best 


cii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

to  reintroduce  it  by  making  good  conduct  the  test  of  sin- 
cere belief,  and  insisting  that  sincere  belief  was  necessary 
to  salvation.  But  as  his  system  was  rooted  in  the  plain 
fact  that  as  what  he  called  sin  includes  sex  and  is  there- 
fore an  ineradicable  part  of  human  nature  (why  else 
should  Christ  have  had  to  atone  for  the  sin  of  all  future 
generations?)  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  declare  that 
sin,  even  in  its  wickedest  extremity,  could  forfeit  the 
sinner's  salvation  if  he  repented  and  believed.  And  to 
this  day  Pauline  Christianity  is,  and  owes  its  enormous 
vogue  to  being,  a  premium  on  sin.  Its  consequences  have 
had  to  be  held  in  check  by  the  worldly  wise  majority 
through  a  violently  anti-Christian  system  of  criminal  law 
and  stern  morality.  But  of  course  the  main  restraint  is 
human  nature,  which  has  good  impulses  as  well  as  bad 
ones,  and  refrains  from  theft  and  murder  and  cruelty, 
even  when  it  is  taught  that  it  can  commit  them  all  at  the 
expense  of  Christ  and  go  happily  to  heaven  afterwards, 
simply  because  it  does  not  always  want  to  murder  or  rob 
or  torture. 

It  is  now  easy  to  understand  why  the  Christianity  of 
Jesus  failed  completely  to  establish  itself  politically  and 
socially,  and  was  easily  suppressed  by  the  police  and  the 
Church,  whilst  Paulinism  overran  the  whole  western  civil- 
ized world,  which  was  at  that  time  the  Roman  Empire, 
and  was  adopted  by  it  as  its  official  faith,  the  old  aveng- 
ing gods  falling  helplessly  before  the  new  Redeemer.  It 
still  retains,  as  we  may  see  in  Africa,  its  power  of  bring- 
ing to  simple  people  a  message  of  hope  and  consolation 
that  no  other  religion  offers.  But  this  enchantment  is  pro- 
duced by  its  spurious  association  v.'ith  the  personal  charm 
of  Jesus,  and  exists  only  for  untrained  minds.  In  the 
hands  of  a  logical  Frenchman  like  Calvin,  pushing  it  to 
its  utmost  conclusions,  and  devising  "institutes"  for  hard- 
headed  adult  Scots  and  literal  Swiss,  it  becomes  the  most 
infernal  of  fatalisms;  and  the  lives  of  civilized  children 


Preface  ciii 

are  blighted  by  its  logic  whilst  negro  piccaninnies  are  re- 
joicing in  its  legends. 

Paul's  Qualities. 

Paul^  however,  did  not  get  his  great  reputation  by 
mere  imposition  and  reaction.  It  is  only  in  comparison 
with  Jesus  (to  whom  many  prefer  him)  that  he  appears 
common  and  conceited.  Though  in  The  Acts  he  is  only  a 
vulgar  revivalist,  he  comes  out  in  his  own  epistles  as  a 
genuine  poet,  though  by  flashes  only.  He  is  no  more  a 
Christian  than  Jesus  was  a  Baptist:  he  is  a  disciple  of 
Jesus  only  as  Jesus  was  a  disciple  of  John.  He  does 
nothing  that  Jesus  would  have  done,  and  says  nothing 
that  Jesus  would  have  said,  though  much,  like  the  famous 
ode  to  charity,  that  he  would  have  admired.  He  is  more 
Jewish  than  the  Jews,  more  Roman  than  the  Romans, 
proud  both  ways,  full  of  startling  confessions  and  self- 
revelations  that  would  not  surprise  us  if  they  were  slipped 
into  the  pages  of  Nietzsche,  tormented  by  an  intellectual 
conscience  that  demanded  an  argued  case  even  at  the  cost 
of  sophistry,  with  all  sorts  of  fine  qualities  and  occasional 
illuminations,  but  always  hopelessly  in  the  toils  of  Sin, 
Death,  and  Logic,  which  had  no  power  over  Jesus.  As 
we  have  seen,  it  was  by  introducing  this  bondage  and 
terror  of  his  into  the  Christian  doctrine  that  he  adapted 
it  to  the  Church  and  State  systems  which  Jesus  tran- 
scended, and  made  it  practicable  by  destroying  the  spe- 
cifically Jesuist  side  of  it.  He  would  have  been  quite  in 
his  place  in  any  modern  Protestant  State;  and  he,  not 
Jesus,  is  the  true  head  and  founder  of  our  Reformed 
Church,  as  Peter  is  of  the  Roman  Church.  The  followers 
of  Paul  and  Peter  made  Christendom,  whilst  the  Naza- 
renes  were  wiped  out. 


civ  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

The  Acts  of  the  Apostles. 

Here  we  may  return  to  the  narrative  called  The  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  which  we  left  at  the  point  where  the  stoning 
of  Stephen  was  followed  by  the  introduction  of  Paul.  The 
author  of  The  Acts,  though  a  good  story-teller,  like  Luke, 
was  (herein  also  like  Luke)  much  weaker  in  power  of 
thought  than  in  imaginative  literary  art.  Hence  we  find 
Luke  credited  with  the  authorship  of  The  Acts  by  people 
who  like  stories  and  have  no  aptitude  for  theology,  whilst 
the  book  itself  is  denounced  as  spurious  by  Pauline  theo- 
logians because  Paul,  and  indeed  all  the  apostles,  are 
represented  in  it  as  very  commonplace  revivalists,  inter- 
esting us  by  their  adventures  more  than  by  any  qualities 
of  mind  or  character.  Indeed,  but  for  the  epistles,  we 
should  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  the  apostles.  Paul 
in  particular  is  described  as  setting  a  fashion  which  has 
remained  in  continual  use  to  this  day.  Whenever  he  ad- 
dresses an  audience,  he  dwells  with  great  zest  on  his  mis- 
deeds before  his  pseudo  conversion,  with  the  effect  of 
throwing  into  stronger  relief  his  present  state  of  blessed- 
ness; and  he  tells  the  story  of  that  conversion  over  and 
over  again,  ending  with  exhortations  to  the  hearers  to 
come  and  be  saved,  and  threats  of  the  wrath  that  will 
overtake  them  if  they  refuse.  At  any  revival  meeting 
today  the  same  thing  may  be  heard,  followed  by  the  same 
conversions.  This  is  natural  enough;  but  it  is  totally 
unlike  the  preaching  of  Jesus,  who  never  talked  about  his 
personal  history,  and  never  "worked  up"  an  audience  to 
hysteria.  It  aims  at  a  purely  nervous  effect;  it  brings 
no  enlightenment;  the  most  ignorant  man  has  only  to  be- 
come intoxicated  with  his  own  vanity,  and  mistake  his 
self-satisfaction  for  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  become  qualified 
as  an  apostle;  and  it  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with 
the  characteristic  doctrines  of  Jesus.  The  Holy  Ghost 
may  be  at  work  all  round  producing  wonders  of  art  and 


Preface  cv 

science^  and  strengthening  men  to  endure  all  sorts  of 
martyrdoms  for  the  enlargement  of  knowledge,  and  the 
enrichment  and  intensification  of  life  ("that  ye  may  have 
life  more  abundantly")  ;  but  the  apostles,  as  described  in 
The  Acts,  take  no  part  in  the  struggle  except  as  persecu- 
tors and  revilers.  To  this  da}'^,  when  their  successors  get 
the  upper  hand,  as  in  Geneva  (Knox's  "perfect  city  of 
Christ")  and  in  Scotland  and  Ulster,  every  spiritual  ac- 
tivity but  moneymaking  and  churchgoing  is  stamped  out; 
heretics  are  ruthlessly  persecuted;  and  such  pleasures  as 
money  can  purchase  are  suppressed  so  that  its  possessors 
are  compelled  to  go  on  making  money  because  there  is 
nothing  else  to  do.  And  the  compensation  for  all  this 
privation  is  partly  an  insane  conceit  of  being  the  elect  of 
God,  with  a  reserved  seat  in  heaven,  and  partly,  since 
even  the  most  infatuated  idiot  cannot  spend  his  life  ad- 
miring himself,  the  less  innocent  excitement  of  punish- 
ing other  people  for  not  admiring  him,  and  the  nosing 
out  of  the  sins  of  the  people  who,  being  intelligent  enough 
to  be  incapable  of  mere  dull  self-righteousness,  and  high- 
ly susceptible  to  the  beauty  and  interest  of  the  real  work- 
ings of  the  Holy  Ghost,  try  to  live  more  rational  and 
abundant  lives.  The  abominable  amusement  of  terrif3ang 
children  with  threats  of  hell  is  another  of  these  diver- 
sions, and  perhaps  the  vilest  and  most  mischievous  of 
them.  The  net  result  is  that  the  imitators  of  the  apostles, 
whether  they  are  called  Holy  Willies  or  Stigginses  in 
derision,  or,  in  admiration,  Puritans  or  saints,  are,  out- 
side their  own  congregations,  and  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent inside  them,  heartily  detested.  Now  nobody  detests 
Jesus,  though  many  who  have  been  tormented  in  their 
childhood  in  his  name  include  him  in  their  general  loath- 
ing of  everything  connected  with  the  word  religion; 
whilst  others,  v/ho  know  him  only  by  misrepresentation 
as  a  sentimental  pacifist  and  an  ascetic,  include  him  in 
their  general  dislike  of  that  type  of  character.     In  the 


cvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

same  way  a  student  who  has  had  to  "get  up"  Shatespear 
as  a  college  subject  may  hate  Shakespear;  and  people 
who  dislike  the  theatre  may  include  Moliere  in  that  dis- 
like without  ever  having  read  a  line  of  his  or  witnessed 
one  of  his  plays;  but  nobody  with  any  knowledge  of 
Shakespear  or  Moliere  could  possibly  detest  them,  or 
read  without  pity  and  horror  a  description  of  their  being 
insulted,  tortured,  and  killed.  And  the  same  is  true  of 
Jesus.  But  it  requires  the  most  strenuous  effort  of  con- 
science to  refrain  from  crying  "Serve  him  right"  when 
we  read  of  the  stoning  of  Stephen ;  and  nobody  has  ever 
cared  twopence  about  the  martyrdom  of  Peter:  many 
better  men  have  died  worse  deaths:  for  example,  honest 
Hugh  Latimer,  who  was  burned  by  us,  was  worth  fifty 
Stephens  and  a  dozen  Peters.  One  feels  at  last  that 
when  Jesus  called  Peter  from  his  boat,  he  spoiled  an 
honest  fisherman,  and  made  nothing  better  out  of  the 
wreck  than  a  salvation  monger. 


The  Controversies  on  Baptism  and 
Transubstantiation. 

Meanwhile  the  inevitable  effect  of  dropping  the  pe- 
culiar doctrines  of  Jesus  and  going  back  to  John  the  Bap- 
tist, was  to  make  it  much  easier  to  convert  Gentiles  than 
Jews ;  and  it  was  by  following  the  line  of  least  resistance 
that  Paul  became  the  apostle  to  the  Gentiles.  The  Jews 
had  their  own  rite  of  initiation:  the  rite  of  circumcision; 
and  they  were  fiercely  jealous  for  it,  because  it  marked 
them  as  the  chosen  people  of  God,  and  set  them  apart 
from  the  Gentiles,  who  were  simply  the  uncircumcized. 
When  Paul,  finding  that  baptism  made  way  faster  among 
the  Gentiles  than  among  the  Jews,  as  it  enabled  them  to 
plead  that  they  too  were  sanctified  by  a  rite  of  later  and 
higher  authority  than  the  Mosaic  rite,  he  was  compelled 


Preface  cvii 

to  admit  that  circumcision  did  not  matter;  and  this,  to 
the  Jews,  was  an  intolerable  blasphemy.  To  Gentiles  like 
ourselves,  a  good  deal  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans  is 
now  tedious  to  unreadableness  because  it  consists  of  a 
hopeless  attempt  by  Paul  to  evade  the  conclusion  that  if 
a  man  were  baptized  it  did  not  matter  a  rap  whether  he 
was  circumcized  or  not.  Paul  claims  circumcision  as  an 
excellent  thing  in  its  way  for  a  Jew;  but  if  it  has  no 
efficacy  towards  salvation,  and  if  salvation  is  the  one 
tiling  needful — and  Paul  was  committed  to  both  proposi- 
tions— liis  pleas  in  mitigation  only  made  the  Jews  more 
determined  to  stone  him. 

Thus  from  the  very  beginning  of  apostolic  Christi- 
anity, it  was  hampered  by  a  dispute  as  to  whether  sal- 
vation was  to  be  attained  by  a  surgical  operation  or  by 
a  sprinkling  of  water:  mere  rites  on  which  Jesus  would 
not  have  wasted  twenty  words.  Later  on,  when  the  new 
Beet  conquered  the  Gentile  west,  where  the  dispute  had 
no  practical  application,  the  other  ceremony — that  of  eat- 
ing the  god — produced  a  still  more  disastrous  dispute,  in 
which  a  difference  of  belief,  not  as  to  the  obligation  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  but  as  to  whether  it  was  a  symbolic 
or  a  real  ingestion  of  divine  substance,  produced  per- 
secution, slaughter,  hatred,  and  everything  that  Jesus 
loathed,  on  a  monstrous  scale. 

But  long  before  that,  the  superstitions  which  had  fast- 
ened on  the  new  faith  made  trouble.  The  partheno- 
genetic  birth  of  Christ,  simple  enough  at  first  as  a  pop- 
ular miracle,  was  not  left  so  simple  by  the  theologians. 
They  began  to  ask  of  what  substance  Christ  was  made  in 
the  womb  of  the  virgin.  When  the  Trinity  was  added  to 
the  faith  the  question  arose,  was  the  virgin  the  mother  of 
God  or  only  the  mother  of  Jesus?  Arian  schisms  and 
Nestorian  schisms  arose  on  these  questions ;  and  the  lead- 
ers of  the  resultant  agitations  rancorously  deposed  one 
another  and  excommunicated  one  another  according  to 


cviii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

their  luck  in  enlisting  the  emperors  on  their  side.  In 
the  IV  century  they  began  to  burn  one  another  for  differ- 
ences of  opinion  in  such  matters.  In  the  VIII  century 
Charlemagne  made  Christianity  compulsory  by  killing 
those  who  refused  to  embrace  it;  and  though  this  made 
an  end  of  the  voluntary  character  of  conversion,  Charle- 
magne may  claim  to  be  the  first  Christian  veho  put  men 
to  death  for  any  point  of  doctrine  that  really  mattered. 
From  his  time  onward  the  history  of  Christian  contro- 
versy reeks  with  blood  and  fire,  torture  and  warfare.  The 
Crusades,  the  persecutions  in  Albi  and  elsewhere,  the  In- 
quisition, the  "wars  of  religion"  which  followed  the  Ref- 
ormation, all  presented  themselves  as  Christian  phenom- 
ena; but  who  can  doubt  that  they  would  have  been  re- 
pudiated with  horror  by  Jesus  ?  Our  own  notion  that  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew's  was  an  outrage  on  Christi- 
anity, whilst  the  campaigns  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and 
even  of  Frederick  the  Great,  were  a  defence  of  it,  is  as 
absurd  as  the  opposite  notion  that  Frederick  was  Anti- 
christ and  Torquemada  and  Ignatius  Loyola  men  after 
the  very  heart  of  Jesus.  Neither  they  nor  their  exploits 
had  anything  to  do  with  him.  It  is  probable  that  Arch- 
bishop Laud  and  John  Wesley  died  equally  persuaded 
that  he  in  whose  name  they  had  made  themselves  famous 
on  earth  would  receive  them  in  Heaven  with  open  arms. 
Poor  Fox  the  Quaker  would  have  had  ten  times  their 
chance;  and  yet  Fox  made  rather  a  miserable  business 
of  life. 

Nevertheless  all  these  perversions  of  the  doctrine  of 
Jesus  derived  their  moral  force  from  his  credit,  and  so 
had  to  keep  his  gospel  alive.  When  the  Protestants 
translated  the  Bible  into  the  vernacular  and  let  it  loose 
among  the  people,  they  did  an  extremely  dangerous  thing, 
as  the  mischief  which  followed  proves;  but  they  inci- 
dentally let  loose  the  sayings  of  Jesus  in  open  competi- 
tion with  the  sayings  of  Paul  and  Koheleth  and  David  and 


Preface  cix 

Solomon  and  the  authors  of  Job  and  the  Pentateuch ;  and, 
as  we  liave  seen^  Jesus  seems  to  be  the  winning  name. 
The  glaring  contradiction  between  liis  teaching  and  the 
practice  of  all  the  States  and  all  the  Churches  is  no  longer 
hidden.  And  it  may  be  that  though  nineteen  centuries 
have  passed  since  Jesus  was  born  (the  date  of  his  birth 
is  now  quaintly  given  as  7  B.C.,  though  some  contend  for 
100  B.C.),  and  though  his  Church  has  not  yet  been  found- 
ed nor  his  political  system  tried,  the  bankruptcy  of  all 
the  other  systems  when  audited  by  our  vital  statistics, 
which  give  us  a  final  test  for  all  political  systems,  is 
driving  us  hard  into  accepting  him,  not  as  a  scapegoat, 
but  as  one  who  was  much  less  of  a  fool  in  practical  mat- 
ters than  we  have  hitherto  all  thought  him. 

The  Alternative  Christs. 

Let  us  now  clear  up  the  situation  a  little.  The  New 
Testament  tells  two  stories  for  two  different  soi'ts  of  read- 
ers. One  is  the  old  story  of  the  achievement  of  our  sal- 
vation by  the  sacrifice  and  atonement  of  a  divine  per- 
sonage who  was  barbarously  slain  and  rose  again  on  the 
third  day:  the  story  as  it  was  accepted  by  the  apostles. 
And  in  this  story  the  political,  economic,  and  moral  views 
of  the  Christ  have  no  importance:  the  atonement  is  every- 
thing; and  we  are  saved  by  our  faith  in  it,  and  not  by 
works  or  opinions  (other  than  that  particular  opinion) 
bearing  on  practical  affairs. 

The  other  is  the  story  of  a  prophet  who,  after  express- 
ing several  very  interesting  opinions  as  to  practical  con- 
duct, both  personal  and  political,  which  are  now  of  press- 
ing importance,  and  instructing  his  disciples  to  carry 
them  out  in  their  daily  life,  lost  his  head;  believed  him- 
self to  be  a  crude  legendary  form  of  god ;  and  under  that 
delusion  courted  and  suffered  a  cruel  execution  in  the  be- 
lief that  he  would  rise  from  the  dead  and  come  in  glory 


ex  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

to  reign  over  a  regenerated  world.  In  this  form,  the 
political,  economic  and  moral  opinions  of  Jesus,  as  guides 
to  conduct,  are  interesting  and  important:  the  rest  is  mere 
psychopathy  and  superstition.  The  accounts  of  the 
resurrection,  the  parthenogenetic  birth,  and  the  more  in- 
credible miracles  are  rejected  as  inventions;  and  such 
episodes  as  the  conversation  with  the  devil  are  classed 
with  similar  conversations  recorded  of  St.  Dunstan, 
Luther,  Bunyan,  Swedenborg,  and  Blake. 

Credulity  no  Criterion. 

This  arbitrary  acceptance  and  rej  ection  of  parts  of  the 
gospel  is  not  peculiar  to  the  Secularist  view.  We  have 
seen  Luke  and  John  reject  Matthew's  story  of  the  mas- 
sacre of  the  innocents  and  the  flight  into  Egypt  without 
ceremony.  The  notion  that  Matthew's  manuscript  is  a 
literal  and  infallible  record  of  facts,  not  subject  to  the 
errors  that  beset  all  earthly  chroniclers,  would  have  made 
John  stare,  being  as  it  is  a  comparatively  modern  fancy 
of  intellectually  untrained  people  who  keep  the  Bible 
on  the  same  shelf  with  Napoleon's  Book  of  Fate,  Old 
Moore's  Almanack,  and  handbooks  of  therapeutic  herb- 
alism. You  may  be  a  fanatical  Salvationist  and  reject 
more  miracle  stories  than  Huxley  did;  and  you  may 
utterly  repudiate  Jesus  as  the  Savior  and  yet  cite  him  as 
a  historical  witness  to  the  possession  by  men  of  the  most 
marvellous  thaumaturgical  powers.  "Christ  Scientist" 
and  Jesus  the  Mahatma  are  preached  by  people  whom 
Peter  would  have  struck  dead  as  worse  infidels  than 
Simon  Magus ;  and  the  Atonement  is  preached  by  Baptist 
and  Congregationalist  ministers  whose  views  of  the  mir- 
acles are  those  of  Ingersoll  and  Bradlaugh.  Luther,  who 
made  a  clean  sweep  of  all  the  saints  with  their  million 
miracles,  and  reduced  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself  to  the 
status  of  an  idol,  concentrated  Salvationism  to  a  point 


Preface  cxi 

at  whicli  the  most  execrable  murderer  who  believes  in  it 
when  the  rope  is  round  his  neck,  flies  straight  to  the  arms 
of  Jesus,  whilst  Tom  Paine  and  Shelley  fall  into  the  bot- 
tomless pit  to  burn  there  to  all  eternity.  And  sceptical 
physicists  like  Sir  William  Crookes  demonstrate  by 
laboratory  experiments  that  "mediums"  like  Dunglas 
Home  can  make  the  pointer  of  a  spring-balance  go  round 
without  touching  the  weight  suspended  from  it. 


Belief  in  Personal  Immortality  no 
Criterion. 

Nor  is  belief  in  individual  immortality  any  criterion. 
Theosophists,  rejecting  vicarious  atonement  so  sternly 
that  they  insist  that  the  smallest  of  our  sins  brings  its 
Karma,  also  insist  on  individual  immortality  and  metem- 
psychosis in  order  to  provide  an  unlimited  field  for 
Karma  to  be  worked  out  by  the  unredeemed  sinner.  The 
belief  in  the  prolongation  of  individual  life  beyond  the 
grave  is  far  more  real  and  vivid  among  table-rapping 
Spiritualists  than  among  conventional  Christians.  The 
notion  that  those  who  reject  the  Christian  (or  any  other) 
scheme  of  salvation  by  atonement  must  reject  also  belief 
in  personal  immortality  and  in  miracles  is  as  baseless  as 
the  notion  that  if  a  man  is  an  atheist  he  will  steal  your 
watch. 

I  could  multiply  these  instances  to  weariness.  The 
main  difference  that  set  Gladstone  and  Huxley  by  the 
ears  is  not  one  between  belief  in  supernatural  persons 
or  miraculous  events  and  the  sternest  view  of  such  belief 
as  a  breach  of  intellectual  integrity:  it  is  the  difference 
between  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  the  crucifixion  as  an  in- 
fallible cure  for  guilt,  and  a  congenital  incapacity  for 
believing  this,  or  (the  same  thing)  desiring  to  believe  it. 


cxii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

The  Secular  View  Natural,  not  Rational, 
therefore  Inevitable. 

It  must  therefore  be  taken  as  a  flat  fundamental  mod- 
ern fact,  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  that  whilst  many 
of  us  cannot  believe  that  Jesus  got  his  curious  grip  of 
our  souls  by  mere  sentimentality,  neither  can  we  believe 
that  he  was  John  Barleycorn.  The  more  our  reason  and 
study  lead  us  to  believe  that  Jesus  was  talking  the  most 
penetrating  good  sense  when  he  preached  Communism; 
when  he  declared  that  the  reality  behind  the  popular  be- 
lief in  God  was  a  creative  spirit  in  ourselves,  called  by 
him  the  Heavenly  Father  and  by  us  Evolution,  Elan  Vital, 
Life  Force  and  other  names;  when  he  protested  against 
the  claims  of  marriage  and  the  family  to  appropriate  that 
high  part  of  our  energy  that  was  meant  for  the  service  of 
his  Fatiier,  the  more  impossible  it  becomes  for  us  to 
believe  that  he  was  talking  equally  good  sense  when  he 
so  suddenly  announced  that  he  was  himself  a  visible  con- 
crete God ;  that  his  flesh  and  blood  were  miraculous  food 
for  us;  that  he  must  be  tortured  and  slain  in  the  tradi- 
tional manner  and  would  rise  from  the  dead  after  three 
days ;  and  that  at  his  second  coming  the  stars  would  fall 
from  heaven  and  he  become  king  of  an  earthly  paradise. 
But  it  is  easy  and  reasonable  to  believe  that  an  over- 
wrought preacher  at  last  went  mad  as  Swift  and  Ruskin 
and  Nietzsche  went  mad.  Every  asylum  has  in  it  a  pa- 
tient suffering  from  the  delusion  that  he  is  a  god,  yet 
otherwise  sane  enough.  These  patients  do  not  nowadays 
declare  that  they  will  be  barbarously  slain  and  will  rise 
from  the  dead,  because  they  have  lost  that  tradition  of 
the  destiny  of  godhead;  but  they  claim  everything 
appertaining  to  divinity  that  is  within  their  knowledge. 

Thus  the  gospels  as  memoirs  and  suggestive  statements 
of  sociological  and  biological  doctrine,  highly  relevant  to 


Preface  cxiii 

modern  civilization,  though  ending  in  the  history  of  a 
psycopathic  delusion,  are  quite  credible,  intelligible,  and 
interesting  to  modern  thinlcers.  In  any  other  light  they 
are  neither  credible,  intelligible,  nor  interesting  except 
to  people  upon  whom  the  delusion  imposes. 

"The  Higher  Criticism." 

Historical  research  and  palcographic  criticism  will  no 
doubt  continue  their  demonstrations  that  the  New  Testa- 
ment, like  the  Old,  seldom  tells  a  single  story  or  expounds 
a  single  doctrine,  and  gives  us  often  an  accretion  and  con- 
glomeration of  widely  discrete  and  even  unrelated  tradi- 
tions and  doctrines.  But  these  disintegrations,  though 
technically  interesting  to  scholars,  and  gratifying  or  ex- 
asperating, as  the  case  may  be,  to  people  who  are  merely 
defending  or  attacking  the  paper  fortifications  of  the 
infallibility  of  the  Bible,  have  hardly  an}i;hing  to  do  with 
the  purpose  of  these  pages.  I  have  mentioned  the  fact 
that  most  of  the  authorities  arc  now  agreed  (for  the  mo- 
ment) that  the  date  of  the  birth  of  Jesus  may  be  placed 
at  about  7  B.C.;  but  they  do  not  therefore  date  their 
letters  1923,  nor,  I  presume,  do  they  expect  me  to  do  so. 
What  I  am  engaged  in  is  a  criticism  (in  the  Kantian 
sense)  of  an  established  body  of  belief  which  has  become 
an  actual  part  of  the  mental  fabric  of  my  readers;  and 
I  should  be  the  most  cxasi^erating  of  triflers  and  pedants 
if  I  were  to  digress  into  a  criticism  of  some  other  belief 
or  no-belief  which  my  readers  might  conceivably  profess 
if  they  were  erudite  Scriptural  paleographers  and  his- 
torians, in  which  case,  by  the  way,  they  would  have  to 
change  tlieir  views  so  frequently  that  the  gospel  they  re- 
ceived in  their  childhood  would  dominate  them  after  all 
by  its  superior  persistency.  The  chaos  of  mere  facts  in 
which  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  and  the  Ode  to  Charity 
suggest  nothing  but  disputes  as  to  whether  they  are  inter- 


cxiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

polations  or  not,  in  which  Jesus  becomes  nothing  but  a 
name  suspected  of  belonging  to  ten  different  prophets  or 
executed  persons,  in  which  Paul  is  only  the  man  who 
could  not  possibly  have  written  the  epistles  attributed  to 
him,  in  which  Chinese  sages,  Greek  philosophers,  Latin 
authors,  and  writers  of  ancient  anonymous  inscriptions 
are  thrown  at  our  heads  as  the  sources  of  this  or  that 
scrap  of  the  Bible,  is  neither  a  religion  nor  a  criticism 
of  religion:  one  does  not  offer  the  fact  that  a  good  deal 
of  the  medieval  building  in  Peterborough  Cathedral  was 
found  to  be  flagrant  jerry-building  as  a  criticism  of  the 
Dean's  sermons.  For  good  or  evil,  we  have  made  a  syn- 
thesis out  of  the  literature  we  call  the  Bible;  and  though 
the  discovery  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  jerry-building 
in  the  Bible  is  interesting  in  its  way,  because  everything 
about  the  Bible  is  interesting,  it  does  not  alter  the  syn- 
thesis very  materially  even  for  the  paleographers,  and 
does  not  alter  it  at  all  for  those  who  know  no  more  about 
modern  paleography  than  Archbishop  Ussher  did.  I  have 
therefore  indicated  little  more  of  the  discoveries  than 
Archbishop  Ussher  might  have  guessed  for  himself  if 
he  had  read  the  Bible  without  prepossessions. 

For  the  rest,  I  have  taken  the  synthesis  as  it  really 
lives  and  works  in  men.  After  all,  a  synthesis  is  what 
you  want:  it  is  the  case  you  have  to  judge  brought  to  an 
apprehensible  issue  for  you.  Even  if  you  have  little  more 
respect  for  synthetic  biography  than  for  synthetic  rubber, 
synthetic  milk,  and  the  still  unachieved  synthetic  proto- 
plasm which  is  to  enable  us  to  make  different  sorts  of 
men  as  a  pastry  cook  makes  different  sorts  of  tarts,  the 
practical  issue  still  lies  as  plainly  before  you  as  before 
the  most  credulous  votaries  of  what  pontificates  as  the 
Higher  Criticism. 


Preface  cxv 

The  Perils  of  Salvationism. 

The  secular  view  of  Jesus  is  powerfully  reinforced  by 
the  increase  in  our  day  of  the  number  of  people  who  have 
had  the  means  of  educating  and  training  themselves  to 
the  point  at  which  they  are  not  afraid  to  look  facts  in  the 
face,  even  such  terrifying  facts  as  sin  and  death.  The 
result  is  greater  sternness  in  modern  thought.  The  con- 
viction is  spreading  that  to  encourage  a  man  to  believe 
that  though  his  sins  be  as  scarlet  he  can  be  made  whiter 
than  snow  by  an  easy  exercise  of  self-conceit,  is  to  en- 
courage him  to  be  a  rascal.  It  did  not  work  so  badly 
when  you  could  also  conscientiously  assure  him  that  if  he 
let  himself  be  caught  najjping  in  the  matter  of  faith  by 
death,  a  red-hot  hell  would  roast  him  alive  to  all  eternity. 
In  those  days  a  sudden  death — the  most  enviable  of  all 
deaths — was  regarded  as  the  most  frightful  calamity.  It 
was  classed  with  plague,  pestilence,  and  famine,  battle 
and  murder,  in  our  prayers.  But  belief  in  that  hell  is 
fast  vanishing.  All  the  leaders  of  thought  have  lost  it; 
and  even  for  the  rank  and  file  it  has  fled  to  those  parts 
of  Ireland  and  Scotland  which  are  still  in  the  XVII  cen- 
tury. Even  there,  it  is  tacitly  reserved  for  the  other 
fellow. 

The  Importance  of  Hell  in  the  Salvation 
Scheme. 

The  seriousness  of  throwing  over  hell  whilst  still  cling- 
ing to  the  Atonement  is  obvious.  If  there  is  no  punish- 
ment for  sin  there  can  be  no  self- forgiveness  for  it.  If 
Christ  paid  our  score,  and  if  there  is  no  hell  and  there- 
fore no  chance  of  our  getting  into  trouble  by  forgetting 
the  obligation,  then  we  can  be  as  wicked  as  we  like  with 
impunity  inside  the  secular  law,  even  from  self-reproach, 
which  becomes  mere  ingratitude  to  the  Savior.     On  the 


cxvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

other  hand,  if  Christ  did  not  pay  our  score,  it  still  stands 
against  us;  and  such  debts  make  us  extremely  uncomfor- 
table. The  drive  of  evolution,  which  we  call  conscience 
and  honor,  seizes  on  such  slips,  and  shames  us  to  the  dust 
for  being  so  low  in  the  scale  as  to  be  capable  of  them. 
The  "saved"  thief  experiences  an  ecstatic  happiness 
which  can  never  come  to  the  honest  atheist :  he  is  tempted 
to  steal  again  to  repeat  the  glorious  sensation.  But  if 
the  atheist  steals  he  has  no  such  happiness.  He  is  a  thief 
and  knows  that  he  is  a  thief.  Nothing  can  rub  that  off 
him.  He  may  try  to  sooth  his  shame  by  some  sort  of 
restitution  or  equivalent  act  of  benevolence;  but  that  does 
not  alter  the  fact  that  he  did  steal ;  and  his  conscience  will 
not  be  easy  until  he  has  conquered  his  will  to  steal  and 
changed  himself  into  an  honest  man  by  developing  that 
divine  spark  within  him  which  Jesus  insisted  on  as  the 
everyday  reality  of  what  the  atheist  denies. 

Now  though  the  state  of  the  believers  in  the  atonement 
may  thus  be  the  happier,  it  is  most  certainly  not  more 
desirable  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  community.  The 
fact  that  a  believer  is  happier  than  a  sceptic  is  no  more  to 
the  point  than  the  fact  that  a  drunken  man  is  happier 
than  a  sober  one.  The  happiness  of  credulity  is  a  cheap 
and  dangerous  quality  of  happiness,  and  by  no  means  a 
necessity  of  life.  Whether  Socrates  got  as  much  hap- 
piness out  of  life  as  Wesley  is  an  unanswerable  question; 
but  a  nation  of  Socrateses  would  be  much  safer  and  hap- 
pier than  a  nation  of  Wesleys ;  and  its  individuals  would 
be  higher  in  the  evolutionary  scale.  At  all  events  it  is  in 
the  Socratic  man  and  not  in  the  Wesleyan  that  our  hope 
lies  now. 

The  Right  to  refuse  Atonement. 

Consequently,  even  if  it  were  mentally  jDossible  for  all 
of  us  to  believe  in  the  Atonement,  we  should  have  to  cry 


Preface  cxvii 

off  it,  as  we  evidently  have  a  right  to  do.  Every  man  to 
whom  salvation  is  offered  has  an  inalienable  natural  right 
to  say  "No,  thank  you:  I  prefer  to  retain  my  full  moral 
responsibility:  it  is  not  good  for  me  to  be  able  to  load  a 
scapegoat  with  my  sins:  I  should  be  less  careful  how  I 
committed  them  if  I  knew  they  would  cost  me  nothing." 
Then,  too,  there  is  the  attitude  of  Ibsen:  that  iron  mor- 
alist to  whom  the  whole  scheme  of  salvation  was  only  an 
ignoble  attempt  to  cheat  God ;  to  get  into  heaven  without 
paying  the  price.  To  be  let  off,  to  beg  for  and  accept  eter- 
nal life  as  a  present  instead  of  earning  it,  would  be  mean 
enough  even  if  we  accepted  the  contempt  of  the  Power  on 
whose  pity  we  were  trading;  but  to  bargain  for  a  crown  of 
glory  as  well!  that  was  too  much  for  Ibsen:  it  provoked 
him  to  exclaim,  "Your  God  is  an  old  man  whom  you 
cheat,"  and  to  lash  the  deadened  conscience  of  the  XIX 
century  back  to  life  with  a  whip  of  scorpions. 

The  Teaching  of  Christianity. 

And  there  I  must  leave  the  matter  to  such  choice  as 
your  nature  allows  you.  The  honest  teacher  who  has  to 
make  known  to  a  novice  the  facts  about  Christianity  can- 
not in  any  essential  regard,  I  think,  put  the  facts  other- 
wise than  as  I  have  put  them.  If  children  are  to  be  de- 
livered from  the  proselytizing  atheist  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  proselytizing  nun  in  the  convent  school  on  the 
other,  with  all  the  other  proselytizers  that  lie  between 
them,  they  must  not  be  burdened  with  idle  controversies 
as  to  whether  there  was  ever  such  a  person  as  Jesus  or 
not.  When  Hume  said  that  Joshua's  campaigns  were  im- 
possible, Whately  did  not  wrangle  about  it:  he  proved, 
on  the  same  lines,  that  the  campaigns  of  Napoleon  were 
impossible.  Only  fictitious  characters  will  stand  Hume's 
sort  of  examination:  nothing  will  ever  make  Edward  the 
Confessor  and  St.  Louis  as  real  to  us  as  Don  Quixote  and 


cxviii         Androcles  and  the  Lion 

Mr.  Pickwick.  We  must  cut  the  controversy  short  by  de- 
claring that  there  is  the  same  evidence  for  the  existence 
of  Jesus  as  for  that  of  any  other  person  of  his  time;  and 
the  fact  that  you  may  not  believe  everything  Matthew 
tells  you  no  more  disproves  the  existence  of  Jesus  than 
the  fact  that  you  do  not  believe  everything  Macaulay 
tells  you  disproves  the  existence  of  William  III.  The 
gospel  narratives  in  the  main  give  you  a  biography  which 
is  quite  credible  and  accountable  on  purely  secular 
grounds  when  you  have  trimmed  off  everything  that 
Hume  or  Grimm  or  Rousseau  or  Huxley  or  any  modern 
bishop  could  reject  as  fanciful.  Without  going  further 
than  this,  you  can  become  a  follower  of  Jesus  just  as 
you  can  become  a  follower  of  Confucius  or  Lao  Tse,  and 
may  therefore  call  yourself  a  Jesuist,  or  even  a  Christian, 
if  you  hold,  as  the  strictest  Secularist  quite  legitimately 
may,  that  all  prophets  are  inspired,  and  all  men  with  a 
mission,  Christs. 

The  teacher  of  Christianity  has  then  to  make  known  to 
the  child,  first  the  song  of  John  Barleycorn,  with  the 
fields  and  seasons  as  witness  to  its  eternal  truth.  Then, 
as  the  child's  mind  matures,  it  can  learn,  as  historical  and 
psychological  phenomena,  the  tradition  of  the  scapegoat, 
the  Redeemer,  the  Atonement,  the  Resurrection,  the 
Second  Coming,  and  how,  in  a  world  saturated  with  this 
tradition,  Jesus  has  been  largely  accepted  as  the  long  ex- 
pected and  often  prophesied  Redeemer,  the  Messiah,  the 
Christ.  It  is  open  to  the  child  also  to  accept  him.  If 
the  child  is  built  like  Gladstone,  he  will  accept  Jesus  as 
his  Savior,  and  Peter  and  John  the  Baptist  as  the  Savior's 
revealer  and  forerunner  respectively.  If  he  is  built  like 
Huxley,  he  will  take  the  secular  view,  in  spite  of  all  that 
a  pious  family  can  do  to  prevent  him.  The  important 
thing  now  is  that  the  Gladstones  and  Huxleys  should  no 
longer  waste  their  time  irrelevantly  and  ridiculously 
wrangling   about  the   Gadarene  swine,   and  that   they 


Preface  cxix 

should  make  up  their  minds  as  to  the  soundness  of  the 
secular  doctrines  of  Jesus ;  for  it  is  about  these  that  they 
may;  come  to  blows  in  our  own  time. 

Christianity  and  Tiie  Empire. 

Finally,  let  us  ask  why  it  is  that  the  old  superstitions 
have  so  suddenly  lost  countenance  that  although,  to  the 
utter  disgrace  of  the  nation's  leaders  and  rulers,  the  laws 
by  which  persecutors  can  destroy  or  gag  all  freedom  of 
thought  and  speech  in  these  matters  are  still  unrepealed 
and  ready  to  the  hand  of  our  bigots  and  fanatics  (quite 
recently  a  respectable  shopkeeper  was  convicted  of  "blas- 
phemy" for  saying  that  if  a  modern  girl  accoimted  for  an 
illicit  pregnancy  by  saying  she  had  conceived  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  we  should  know  what  to  think:  a  remark  which 
would  never  have  occurred  to  liim  had  he  been  properly 
taught  how  the  story  was  grafted  on  the  gospel),  yet 
somehow  they  are  used  only  against  poor  men,  and  that 
only  in  a  half-hearted  way.  When  we  consider  that  from 
the  time  when  the  first  scholar  ventured  to  whisper  as  a 
professional  secret  that  the  Pentateuch  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  written  by  Moses  to  the  time  within  my 
own  recollection  when  Bishop  Colenso,  for  saying  the 
same  thing  openly,  was  inhibited  from  preaching  and 
actually  excommunicated,  eight  centuries  elapsed  (the 
point  at  issue,  though  technically  interesting  to  pale- 
ographers and  historians,  having  no  more  bearing  on 
human  welfare  than  the  controversy  as  to  whether  uncial 
or  cursive  is  the  older  form  of  writing)  ;  yet  now,  within 
fifty  years  of  Colenso's  heresy,  there  is  not  a  Churchman 
of  any  authority  living,  or  an  educated  layman,  who 
could  without  ridicule  declare  that  Moses  wrote  the  Pen- 
tateuch as  Pascal  wrote  his  Thoughts  or  D'Aubigny  his 
History  of  the  Reformation,  or  that  St.  Jerome  wrote 
the  passage  about  the  three  witnesses  in  the  Vulgate,  or 


cxx  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

that  there  are  less  than  three  different  accounts  of  the 
creation  jumbled  together  in  the  book  of  Genesis.  Now 
the  maddest  Progressive  will  hardly  contend  that  our 
growth  in  wisdom  and  liberality  has  been  greater  in  the 
last  half  century  than  in  the  sixteen  half  centuries  pre- 
ceding: indeed  it  would  be  easier  to  sustain  the  thesis 
that  the  last  fifty  years  have  witnessed  a  distinct  reaction 
from  Victorian  Liberalism  to  Collectivism  which  has  per- 
ceptibly strengthened  the  State  Churches.  Yet  the  fact 
remains  that  whereas  Byron's  Cain,  published  a  century 
ago,  is  a  leading  case  on  the  point  that  there  is  no  copy- 
right in  a  blasphemous  book,  the  Salvation  Army  might 
now  include  it  among  its  publications  without  shocking 
anyone. 

I  suggest  that  the  causes  which  have  produced  this 
sudden  clearing  of  the  air  include  the  transformation  of 
many  modern  States,  notably  the  old  self-contained 
French  Republic  and  the  tight  little  Island  of  Britain, 
into  empires  which  overflow  the  frontiers  of  all  the 
Churches.  In  India,  for  example,  there  are  less  than 
four  million  Christians  out  of  a  population  of  three  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  and  a  half  millions.  The  King  of  Eng- 
land is  the  defender  of  the  faith;  but  what  faith  is  now 
the  faith  .^  The  inhabitants  of  this  island  would,  within 
the  memory  of  persons  still  living,  have  claimed  that  their 
faith  is  surely  the  faith  of  God,  and  that  all  others  are 
heathen.  But  we  islanders  are  only  forty-five  millions ; 
and  if  we  count  ourselves  all  as  Christians,  there  are  still 
seventy-seven  and  a  quarter  million  Mahometans  in  the 
Empire.  Add  to  these  the  Hindoos  and  Buddhists,  Sikhs 
and  Jains,  whom  I  was  taught  in  my  childhood,  by  way 
of  religious  instruction,  to  regard  as  gross  idolaters  con- 
signed to  eternal  perdition,  but  whose  faith  I  can  now 
be  punished  for  disparaging  by  a  provocative  word,  and 
you  have  a  total  of  over  three  hundred  and  forty-two  and 
a  quarter  million  heretics  to  swamp  our  forty-five  million 


Preface  cxxi 

Britons,  of  whom,  by  the  way,  only  six  thousand  call 
themselves  distinctively  "disciples  of  Christ,"  the  rest  be- 
ing members  of  the  Church  of  England  and  other  denom- 
inations whose  discipleship  is  less  emphatically  affirmed. 
In  short,  the  Englishman  of  today,  instead  of  being,  like 
the  forefathers  whose  ideas  he  clings  to,  a  subject  of  a 
State  practically  wholly  Christian,  is  now  crowded,  and 
indeed  considerably  overcrowded,  into  a  corner  of  an  Em- 
pire in  which  the  Christians  are  a  mere  eleven  per  cent 
of  the  population ;  so  that  the  Nonconformist  who  allows 
his  umbrella  stand  to  be  sold  up  rather  than  pay  rates 
towards  the  support  of  a  Church  of  England  school,  finds 
himself  paying  taxes  not  only  to  endow  the  Church  of 
Rome  in  Malta,  but  to  send  Christians  to  prison  for  the 
blasphemy  of  offering  Bibles  for  sale  in  the  streets  of 
Khartoum. 

Turn  to  Fr;ince,  a  country  ten  times  more  insular  in  its 
pre-occupation  with  its  own  language,  its  own  history,  its 
own  character,  than  we,  who  have  always  been  explorers 
and  colonizers  and  grumblers.  This  once  self-centred 
nation  is  forty  millions  strong.  The  total  population  of 
the  French  Republic  is  about  one  hundred  and  fourteen 
millions.  The  French  are  not  in  our  hopeless  Christian 
minority  of  eleven  per  cent ;  but  they  arc  in  a  minority  of 
thirty-five  per  cent,  which  is  fairly  conclusive.  And, 
being  a  more  logical  people  than  we,  they  have  officially 
abandoned  Christianit^y  and  declared  that  the  French 
State  has  no  specific  religion. 

Neither  has  the  British  State,  though  it  does  not  say 
so.  No  doubt  there  are  many  innocent  people  in  Eng- 
land who  take  Charlemagne's  view,  and  would,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  offer  our  eighty-nine  per  cent  of  "pagans,  I 
regret  to  say"  the  alternative  of  death  or  Christianity  but 
for  a  vague  impression  that  these  lost  ones  are  all  being 
converted  gradually  by  the  missionaries.  But  no  states- 
man can  entertain  such  ludicrously  parochial  delusions. 


cxxii  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

No  English  king  or  French  president  can  possibly  govern 
on  the  assumption  that  the  theology  of  Peter  and  Paul, 
Luther  and  Calvin,  has  any  objective  validity,  or  that  the 
Christ  is  more  than  the  Buddha,  or  Jehovah  more  than 
Krishna,  or  Jesus  more  or  less  human  than  Mahomet  or 
Zoroaster  or  Confucius.  He  is  actually  compelled,  in  so 
far  as  he  makes  laws  against  blasphemy  at  all,  to  treat 
all  the  religions,  including  Christianity,  as  blasphemous 
when  paraded  before  people  who  are  not  accustomed  to 
them  and  do  not  want  them.  And  even  that  is  a  conces- 
sion to  a  mischievous  intolerance  which  an  empire  should 
use  its  control  of  education  to  eradicate. 

On  the  other  hand.  Governments  cannot  really  divest 
themselves  of  religion,  or  even  of  dogma.  When  Jesus 
said  that  people  should  not  only  live  but  live  more  abun- 
dantly, he  was  dogmatizing;  and  many  Pessimist  sages, 
including  Shakespear,  whose  hero  begged  his  friend  to 
refrain  from  suicide  in  the  words  "Absent  thee  from 
felicity  awhile,"  would  say  dogmatizing  very  pernicious- 
ly. Indeed  many  preachers  and  saints  declare,  some  of 
them  in  the  name  of  Jesus  himself,  that  this  world  is  a 
vale  of  tears,  and  that  our  lives  had  better  be  passed  in 
sorrow  and  even  in  torment,  as  a  preparation  for  a  better 
life  to  come.  Make  these  sad  people  comfortable;  and 
they  baffle  you  by  putting  on  hair  shirts. 

None  the  less,  governments  must  proceed  on  dogmatic 
assumptions,  whether  they  call  them  dogmas  or  not;  and 
they  must  clearly  be  assumptions  common  enough  to 
stamp  those  who  reject  them  as  eccentrics  or  limatics. 
And  the  greater  and  more  heterogeneous  the  population 
the  commoner  the  assumptions  must  be.  A  Trappist 
monastery  can  be  conducted  on  assumptions  which  would 
in  twenty-fours  hours  provoke  the  village  at  its  gates  to 
insurrection.  That  is  because  the  monastery  selects  its 
people ;  and  if  a  Trappist  does  not  like  it  he  can  leave  it. 
But  a  subject  of  the  British  Empire  or  the  French  Re- 


Preface  cxxlii 

public  is  not  selected;  and  if  he  does  not  like  it  he  must 
lump  it;  for  emigration  is  practicable  only  within  narrow 
limits,  and  seldom  provides  an  effective  remedy,  all  civi- 
lizations being  now  much  alike. 

To  anyone  caj^able  of  comprehending  government  at 
all  it  must  be  evident  without  argument  that  the  set  of 
fundamental  assumptions  drawn  up  in  the  thirty-nine 
articles  or  in  the  Westminster  Confession  are  wildly 
impossible  as  political  constitutions  for  modern  empires. 
A  personal  profession  of  them  by  any  person  disposed 
to  take  such  professions  seriously  would  practically  dis- 
qualify him  for  high  imperial  office.  A  Calvinist  Viceroy 
of  India  and  a  Particular  Baptist  Secretary  of  State  for 
Foreign  Affairs  would  wreck  the  empire.  The  Stuarts 
wrecked  even  the  tight  little  island  which  was  the  nucleus 
of  the  empire  by  their  Scottish  logic  and  theological 
dogma;  and  it  may  be  sustained  very  plausibly  that  the 
alleged  aptitude  of  the  English  for  self-government, 
which  is  contradicted  by  every  chapter  of  their  history, 
is  really  only  an  incurable  inaptitude  for  theology,  and 
indeed  for  co-ordinated  thought  in  any  direction,  which 
makes  them  equally  impatient  of  systematic  despotism 
and  systematic  good  government :  their  history  being  that 
of  a  badly  governed  and  accidentally  free  people  (com- 
paratively). Thus  our  success  in  colonizing,  as  far  as 
it  has  not  been  produced  by  exterminating  the  natives, 
has  been  due  to  our  indifference  to  the  salvation  of  our 
subjects.  Ireland  is  the  exception  which  proves  the 
rule;  for  Ireland,  the  standing  instance  of  the  inability 
of  the  English  to  colonize  without  extermination  of  na- 
tives, is  also  the  one  country  under  British  rule  in  which 
the  conquerors  and  colonizers  proceeded  on  the  assump- 
tion that  their  business  was  to  establish  Protestantism  as 
well  as  to  make  money  and  thereby  secure  at  least  the 
lives  of  the  unfortunate  inhabitants  out  of  whose  labor 
it  could  be  made.     At  this  moment  Ulster  is  refusing  to 


cxxiv  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

accept  fellowcitizenship  with  the  other  Irish  provinces 
because  the  south  believes  in  St.  Peter  and  Bossuet,  and 
the  north  in  St.  Paul  and  Calvin.  Imagine  the  effect 
of  trying  to  govern  India  or  Egypt  from  Belfast  or  from 
the  Vatican ! 

The  position  is  perhaps  graver  for  France  than  for 
England,  because  the  sixty-five  per  cent  of  French  sub- 
jects who  are  neither  French  nor  Christian  nor  Mod- 
ernist includes  some  thirty  millions  of  negroes  who  are 
susceptible,  and  indeed  highly  susceptible,  of  conversion 
to  those  Salvationist  forms  of  pseudo-Christianity  which 
have  produced  all  the  persecutions  and  religious  wars  of 
the  last  fifteen  hundred  years.  When  the  late  explorer 
Sir  Henry  Stanley  told  me  of  the  emotional  grip  which 
Christianity  had  over  the  Baganda  tribes,  and  read  me 
their  letters,  which  were  exactly  like  medieval  letters  in 
their  literal  faith  and  everpresent  piety,  I  said  "Can 
these  men  handle  a  rifle?"  To  which  Stanley  replied 
with  some  scorn  "Of  course  they  can,  as  well  as  any 
white  man."  Now  at  this  moment  (1915)  a  vast  Euro- 
pean war  is  being  waged,  in  which  the  French  are  using 
Senegalese  soldiers.  I  ask  the  French  Government, 
which,  like  our  own  Government,  is  deliberately  leaving 
the  religious  instruction  of  these  negroes  in  the  hands  of 
missions  of  Petrine  Catholics  and  Pauline  Calvinists, 
whether  they  have  considered  the  possibility  of  a  new 
series  of  crusades,  by  ardent  African  Salvationists,  to 
rescue  Paris  from  the  grip  of  the  modern  scientific  "in- 
fidel," and  to  raise  the  cry  of  "Back  to  the  Apostles: 
back  to  Charlemagne !" 

We  are  more  fortunate  in  that  an  overwhelming  ma- 
jority of  our  subjects  are  Hindoos,  Mahometans  and 
Buddhists:  that  is,  they  have,  as  a  prophylactic  against 
Salvationist  Christianity,  highly  civilized  religions  of 
their  own.  Mahometanism,  which  Napoleon  at  the  end 
of  his  career  classed  as  perhaps  the  best  popular  religion 


Preface  cxxv 

for  modern  political  use,  might  in  some  respects  have 
arisen  as  a  reformed  Christianity  if  Mahomet  had  had 
to  deal  with  a  population  of  seventeenth-century  Chris- 
tians instead  of  Arabs  who  worshipped  stones.  As  it  is, 
men  do  not  reject  Mahomet  for  Calvin;  and  to  offer  a 
Hindoo  so  crude  a  theology  as  ours  in  exchange  for  his 
own,  or  our  Jewish  canonical  literature  as  an  improve- 
ment on  Hindoo  scripture,  is  to  offer  old  lamps  for  older 
ones  in  a  market  where  the  oldest  lamps,  like  old  furni- 
ture in  England,  are  the  most  highly  valued. 

Yet,  I  repeat,  government  is  impossible  without  a  re- 
ligion: that  is,  without  a  body  of  common  assumptions. 
The  open  mind  never  acts:  when  we  have  done  our  ut- 
most to  arrive  at  a  reasonable  conclusion,  we  still,  when 
we  can  reason  and  investigate  no  more,  must  close  our 
minds  for  the  moment  with  a  snap,  and  act  dogmatically 
on  our  conclusions.  The  man  who  waits  to  make  an  en- 
tirely reasonable  will  dies  intestate.  A  man  so  reasonable 
as  to  have  an  open  mind  about  theft  and  murder,  or  about 
the  need  for  food  and  reproduction,  might  just  as  well  be 
a  fool  and  a  scoundrel  for  any  use  he  could  be  as  a  legis- 
lator or  a  State  official.  The  modern  pseudo-democratic 
statesman,  who  says  that  he  is  only  in  power  to  carry  out 
the  will  of  the  people,  and  moves  only  as  the  cat  jumps, 
is  clearly  a  political  and  intellectual  brigand.  The  rule  of 
the  negative  man  who  has  no  convictions  means  in  prac- 
tice the  rule  of  the  positive  mob.  Freedom  of  conscience 
as  Cromwell  used  the  phrase  is  an  excellent  thing ;  never- 
theless if  any  man  had  proposed  to  give  effect  to  freedom 
of  conscience  as  to  cannibalism  in  England,  Cromwell 
would  have  laid  him  by  the  heels  almost  as  promptly  as 
he  would  have  laid  a  Roman  Catholic,  though  in  Fiji  at 
the  same  moment  he  would  have  supported  heartily  the 
freedom  of  conscience  of  a  vegetarian  who  disparaged  the 
sacred  diet  of  Long  Pig. 

Here  then  come  in  the  importance  of  the  repudiation 


cxxvi  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

by  Jesus  of  proselytism.  His  rule  "Dont  pull  up  the 
tares:  sow  the  wheat:  if  you  try  to  pull  up  the  tares  you 
will  pull  up  the  wheat  with  it"  is  the  only  possible  rule 
for  a  statesman  governing  a  modern  empire,  or  a  voter 
supporting  such  a  statesman.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
teaching  of  Jesus  that  cannot  be  assented  to  by  a  Brah- 
man, a  Mahometan,  a  Buddhist  or  a  Jew,  without  any 
question  of  their  conversion  to  Christianity.  In  some 
ways  it  is  easier  to  reconcile  a  Mahometan  to  Jesus  than 
a  British  parson,  because  the  idea  of  a  professional  priest 
is  unfamiliar  and  even  monstrous  to  a  Mahometan  (the 
tourist  who  persists  in  asking  who  is  the  dean  of  St. 
Sophia  puzzles  beyond  words  the  sacristan  who  lends 
him  a  huge  pair  of  slippers) ;  and  Jesus  never  sug- 
gested that  his  disciples  should  separate  themselves  from 
the  laity:  he  picked  them  up  by  the  wayside,  where  any 
man  or  woman  might  follow  him.  For  priests  he  had  not 
a  civil  word;  and  they  shewed  their  sense  of  his  hostility 
by  getting  him  killed  as  soon  as  possible.  He  was,  in 
short,  a  thoroughgoing  anti-Clerical.  And  though,  as  we 
have  seen,  it  is  only  by  political  means  that  his  doctrine 
can  be  put  into  practice,  he  not  only  never  suggested  a 
sectarian  theocracy  as  a  form  of  Government,  and  would 
certainly  have  prophesied  the  downfall  of  the  late  Presi- 
dent Kruger  if  he  had  survived  to  his  time,  but,  when 
challenged,  he  refused  to  teach  his  disciples  not  to  pay 
tribute  to  Caesar,  admitting  that  Caesar,  who  presumably 
had  the  kingdom  of  heaven  within  him  as  much  as  any 
disciple,  had  his  place  in  the  scheme  of  things.  Indeed 
the  apostles  made  this  an  excuse  for  carrying  subser- 
vience to  the  State  to  a  pitch  of  idolatry  that  ended  in 
the  theory  of  the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  provoked  men 
to  cut  kings'  heads  off  to  restore  some  sense  of  propor- 
tion in  the  matter,  Jesus  certainly  did  not  consider  the 
overthrow  of  the  Roman  empire  or  the  substitution  of  a 
new  ecclesiastical  organization  for  the  Jewish  Church 


Preface  cxxvii 

or  for  the  priesthood  of  the  Roman  gods  as  part  of  his 
program.  He  said  that  God  was  better  than  Mammon; 
but  he  never  said  that  Tweedledum  was  better  than  Twee- 
dledee;  and  that  is  why  it  is  now  possible  for  British 
citizens  and  statesmen  to  follow  Jesus^  though  they  can- 
not possibly  follow  either  Tweedledum  or  Tweedledee 
without  bringing  the  empire  down  with  a  crash  on  their 
heads.    And  at  that  I  must  leave  it. 


London,  December  1915. 


ANDROCLES  AND  THE  LION 
XXIII 

1912 


PROLOGUE 

Overture:  forest  sounds,  roaring  of  lions.  Christian 
hymn  faintly. 

A  jungle  path.  A  lion's  roar,  a  melancholy  suffering 
roar,  comes  from  the  jungle.  It  is  repeated  nearer.  The 
lion  limps  from  the  jungle  on  three  legs,  holding  up  his 
right  foreparv,  in  which  a  huge  thorn  sticks.  He  sits 
down  and  contemplates  it.  He  licks  it.  He  shakes  it. 
He  tries  to  extract  it  by  scraping  it  along  the  ground, 
and  hurts  himself  worse.  He  roars  piteously.  He  licks 
it  again.  Tears  drop  from  his  eyes.  He  limps  painfully 
off  the  path  and  lies  down  under  the  trees,  exhausted 
with  pain.  Heaving  a  long  sigh,  like  wind  in  a  trombone, 
he  goes  to  sleep. 

Androcles  and  his  wife  Megaera  come  along  the  path. 
He  is  a  small,  thin,  ridiculous  little  man  who  might  be 
any  age  from  thirty  to  fifty-five.  He  has  sandy  hair, 
watery  compassionate  blue  eyes,  sensitive  nostrils,  and  a 
very  presentable  forehead;  but  his  good  points  go  no 
further :  his  arms  and  legs  and  back,  though  wiry  of  their 
kind,  look  shrivelled  and  starved.  He  carries  a  big  bun- 
dle, is  very  poorly  clad,  and  seems  tired  and  hungry. 

His  wife  is  a  rather  handsome  pampered  slattern,  well 
fed  and  in  the  prime  of  life.  She  has  nothing  to  carry, 
and  has  a  stout  stick  to  help  her  along. 

Megaera  (suddenly  throwing  down  her  stick)  I 
wont  go  another  step. 

Androcles   (pleading  wearily)    Oh,  not  again,  dear. 

3 


4  Androcles  and  the  Lion       Prologue 

whats  the  good  of  stopping  every  two  miles  and  saying 
you  wont  go  another  step?  We  must  get  on  to  the  next 
village  before  night.  There  are  wild  beasts  in  this 
wood:  lions,  they  say. 

Megaera.  I  dont  believe  a  word  of  it.  You  are 
always  threatening  me  with  wild  beasts  to  make  me  walk 
the  very  soul  out  of  my  body  when  I  can  hardly  drag 
one  foot  before  another.  We  havnt  seen  a  single  lion 
yet. 

Androcles.    W^ell,  dear,  do  you  want  to  see  one? 

Megaera  (tearing  the  bundle  from  his  back)  You 
cruel  beast,  you  dont  care  how  tired  I  am,  or  what  be- 
comes of  me  (she  throrvs  the  bundle  on  the  ground) :  al- 
ways thinking  of  yourself.  Self!  self!  self!  always 
yourself!     (She  sits  dorvn  on  the  bundle). 

Androcles  (sitting  dorvn  sadly  on  the  ground  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  head  in  his  hands)  We  all 
have  to  think  of  ourselves  occasionally,  dear. 

Megaera.  A  man  ought  to  think  of  his  wife  some- 
times. 

Androcles.  He  cant  always  help  it,  dear.  You 
make  me  think  of  you  a  good  deal.  Not  that  I  blame 
you. 

Megaera.  Blame  me!  I  should  think  not  indeed. 
Is  it  my  fault  that  I'm  married  to  you.-* 

Androcles.     No,  dear:  that  is  my  fault. 

Megaera.  Thats  a  nice  thing  to  say  to  me.  Arnt 
you  happy  with  me? 

Androcles.     I  dont  complain,  my  love. 

Megaera.     You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 

Androcles.     I  am,  my  dear. 

Megaera.    Youre  not:  you  glory  in  it. 

Androcles.     In  what,  darling? 

Megaera.  In  everything.  In  making  me  a  slave, 
and  making  yourself  a  laughing-stock.  Its  not  fair. 
You  get  me  the  name  of  being  a  shrew  with  your  meek 


Prologue       Androcles  and  the  Lion  5 

ways,  always  talking  as  if  butter  wouldnt  melt  in  your 
mouth.  And  just  because  I  look  a  big  strong  woman, 
and  because  I'm  good-hearted  and  a  bit  hasty,  and  be- 
cause youre  always  driving  me  to  do  things  I'm  sorry 
for  afterwards,  people  say  "  Poor  man :  what  a  life  his 
wife  leads  him !  "  Oh,  if  they  only  knew !  And  you 
think  I  dont  know.     But  I  do,  I  do,  (screaming)  I  do. 

Androcles.     Yes,  my  dear:  I  know  you  do. 

Megaera.  Then  why  dont  you  treat  me  properly  and 
be  a  good  husband  to  me.'' 

Androcles.     What  can  I  do,  my  dear? 

Megaera.  What  can  you  do !  You  can  return  to  your 
duty,  and  come  back  to  your  home  and  your  friends,  and 
sacrifice  to  the  gods  as  all  respectable  people  do,  instead 
of  having  us  hunted  out  of  house  and  home  for  being 
dirty,  disreputable,  blaspheming  atheists. 

Androcles.  I'm  not  an  atheist,  dear:  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian. 

Megaera.  Well,  isnt  that  the  same  thing,  only  ten 
times  worse?  Everybody  knows  that  the  Christians  are 
the  very  lowest  of  the  low. 

Androcles.     Just  like  us,  dear. 

Megaera.  Speak  for  yourself.  Dont  you  dare  to 
compare  me  to  common  people.  My  father  owned  his 
own  public-house;  and  sorrowful  was  the  day  for  me 
when  you  first  came  drinking  in  our  bar. 

Androcles.  I  confess  I  was  addicted  to  it,  dear.  But 
I  gave  it  up  when  I  became  a  Christian. 

Megaera.  Youd  much  better  have  remained  a  drunk- 
ard. I  can  forgive  a  man  being  addicted  to  drink:  its 
only  natural;  and  I  dont  deny  I  like  a  drop  myself 
sometimes.  What  I  cant  stand  is  your  being  addicted 
to  Christianity.  And  whats  worse  again,  your  being 
addicted  to  animals.  How  is  any  woman  to  keep  her 
house  clean  when  you  bring  in  every  stray  cat  and  lost 
cur  and  lame  duck  in  the  whole  countryside?     You  took 


6  Androcles  and  the  Lion       Prologue 

the  bread  out  of  my  mouth  to  feed  them:  you  know  you 
did :  dont  attempt  to  deny  it. 

Androcles.  Only  when  they  were  hungry  and  you 
were  getting  too  stout^  dearie. 

Megaera.  Yes,  insult  me,  do.  (Rising)  Oh!  I  wont 
bear  it  another  moment.  You  used  to  sit  and  talk  to 
those  dumb  brute  beasts  for  hours,  when  you  hadnt  a 
word  for  me. 

Androcles  They  never  answered  back,  darling.  {He 
rises  and  again  shoulders  the  bundle). 

Megaera.  Well,  if  youre  fonder  of  animals  than  of 
your  own  wife,  you  can  live  with  them  here  in  the  jimgle. 
Ive  had  enough  of  them  and  enough  of  you.  I'm  going 
back.     I'm  going  home. 

Androcles  {barring  the  rvay  bach)  No,  dearie:  dont 
take  on  like  tliat.  We  cant  go  back.  Weve  sold  every- 
thing: we  should  starve;  and  I  should  be  sent  to  Rome 
and  thrown  to  the  lions — 

Megaera.  Serve  you  right!  I  wish  the  lions  joy  of 
you.  {Screaming)  Are  you  going  to  get  out  of  my  way 
and  let  me  go  home? 

Androcles.     No,  dear — 

Megaera.  Then  111  make  my  way  through  the  forest; 
and  when  I'm  eaten  by  the  wild  beasts  youll  know  what 
a  wife  youve  lost.  {She  dashes  into  the  jungle  and  nearly 
falls  over  the  sleeping  lion).  Oh!  Oh!  Andy!  Andy! 
{She  totters  back  and  collapses  into  the  arms  of  An- 
drocles, who  crushed  by  her  weight,  falls  on  his  bundle). 

Androcles  {extracting  himself  from  beneath  her  and 
slapping  her  hands  in  great  anxiety)  What  is  it,  my 
precious,  my  pet?  Whats  the  matter?  {He  raises  her 
head.  Speechless  with  terror,  she  points  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sleeping  lion.  He  steals  cautiously  towards 
the  spot  indicated  by  Megaera.  She  rises  with  an  effort 
and  totters  after  him). 

Megaera.    No,  Andy:  youll  be  killed.    Comeback. 


Prologue      Androcles  and  the  Lion  7 

The  lion  utters  a  long  snoring  sign.  Androcles  sees 
the  lion  and  recoils  fainting  into  the  arms  of  Megaera, 
who  falls  back  on  the  bundle.  They  roll  apart  and  lie 
staring  in  terror  at  one  another.  The  lion  is  heard  groan- 
ing heavily  in  the  jungle. 

Androcles   (rvhispering)   Did  you  see?     A  lion. 

Megaera  {despairing)  The  gods  have  sent  him  to 
punish  us  because  youre  a  Christian.  Take  me  away, 
Andy.    Save  me. 

Androcles  (rising)  Meggy:  theres  one  chance  for 
you.  Itll  take  him  pretty  nigh  twenty  minutes  to  eat 
me  (I'm  rather  stringy  and  tough)  and  you  can  escape 
in  less  time  than  that. 

Megaera.  Oh,  dont  talk  about  eating.  {The  lion 
rises  with  a  great  groan  and  limps  towards  them).  Oh! 
{She  faints). 

Androcles  {quahing,  but  keeping  between  the  lion 
and  Megaera)  Dont  you  come  near  my  wife,  do  you 
hear?  {The  lion  groans.  Androcles  can  hardly  stand 
for  trembling).  Meggy:  run.  Run  for  your  life.  If 
I  take  my  eye  off  him,  its  all  up.  {The  lion  holds  up 
his  wounded  paw  and  flaps  it  piteously  before  Andro- 
cles). Oh,  hes  lame,  poor  old  chap!  Hes  got  a  thorn 
in  his  paw.  A  frightfully  big  thorn.  {Full  of  sym- 
pathy) Oh,  poor  old  man !  Did  um  get  an  awful  thorn 
into  urn's  tootsums  wootsums  ?  Has  it  made  um  too  sick 
to  eat  a  nice  little  Christian  man  for  um's  breakfast? 
Oh,  a  nice  little  Christian  man  will  get  urn's  thorn  out 
for  um;  and  then  um  shall  eat  the  nice  Christian  man 
and  the  nice  Christian  man's  nice  big  tender  wifey  pifey. 
{The  lion  responds  by  moans  of  self-pity).  Yes,  yes, 
yes,  yes,  yes.  Now,  now  {taking  the  paw  in  his  hand) 
um  is  not  to  bite  and  not  to  scratch,  not  even  if  it  burts 
a  very,  very  little.  Now  make  velvet  paws.  That  right. 
{He  pulls  gingerly  at  the  thorn.  The  lion,  with  an 
angry  yell  of  pain,  jerks  back  his  paw  so  abruptly  that 


8  Androcles  and  the  Lion       Prologue 

Androcles  is  thrown  on  his  bach).  Steadeee  !  Oh,  did  the 
nasty  cruel  little  Christian  man  hurt  the  sore  paw?  (^The 
lion  moans  assentingly  but  apologetically').  Well,  one 
more  little  pull  and  it  will  be  all  over.  Just  one  little, 
little,  leetle  pull;  and  then  um  will  live  happily  ever 
after.  (He  gives  the  thorn  another  pull.  The  lion 
roars  and  snaps  his  jarvs  with  a  terrift/ing  clash).  Oh, 
mustnt  frigliten  um's  good  kind  doctor,  urn's  affectionate 
nursey.  That  didnt  hurt  at  all :  not  a  bit.  Just  one  more. 
Just  to  shew  how  the  brave  big  lion  can  bear  pain,  not 
like  the  little  crybaby  Christian  man.  Oopsh !  (The 
thorn  comes  out.  The  lion  yells  with  pain,  and  shakes 
his  paw  wildlij).  Thats  it!  (Holding  up  the  thorn). 
Now  its  out.  Now  lick  um's  paw  to  take  away  the  nasty 
inflammation.  See?  (He  licks  his  own  hand.  The  lion 
nods  intelligently  and  licks  his  paw  industriously). 
Clever  little  liony-piony !  Understands  um's  dear  old 
friend  Andy  Wand3^  (The  lion  licks  his  face).  Yes, 
kissums  Andy  Wandy.  (The  lion,  wagging  his  tail  vio- 
lently, rises  on  his  hind  legs  and  embraces  Androcles, 
who  makes  a  wry  face  and  cries)  Velvet  paws !  Velvet 
paws!  (The  lion  draws  in  his  claws).  Thats  right.  (He 
embraces  the  lion,  who  finally  takes  the  end  of  his  tail 
in  one  paw,  places  that  tight  around  Androcles'  waist, 
resting  it  on  his  hip.  Androcles  takes  the  other  paw  in 
his  hand,  stretches  out  his  arm,  and  the  two  waltz  raptur- 
ously round  and  round  and  finally  away  through  the 
jungle). 

Megaera  (who  has  revived  during  the  waltz)  Oh, 
you  coward,  you  havnt  danced  with  me  for  years;  and 
now  you  go  off  dancing  with  a  great  brute  beast  that 
you  havnt  known  for  ten  minutes  and  that  wants  to  eat 
your  own  wife.  Coward  !  Coward  !  Coward  !  (She  ruhes 
off  after  them  into  the  jungle). 


ACT  I 

Evening.  The  end  of  three  converging  roads  to  Home. 
Three  triumphal  arches  span  them  where  they  debouch 
on  a  square  at  the  gate  of  the  city.  Looking  north 
through  the  arches  one  can  see  the  campagna  threaded 
by  the  three  long  dusty  tracks.  On  the  east  and  west 
sides  of  the  square  are  long  stone  benches.  An  old  beg- 
gar sits  on  the  east  side  of  the  square,  his  bowl  at  his  feet. 

Through  the  eastern  arch  a  squad  of  Roman  soldiers 
tramps  along  escorting  a  batch  of  Christian  prisoners  of 
both  sexes  and  all  ages,  among  them  one  Lavinia,  a  good- 
looking  resolute  young  woman,  apparently  of  higher 
social  standing  than  her  fellow-prisoners.  A  centurion, 
carrying  his  vinewood  cudgel,  trudges  alongside  the 
squad,  on  its  right,  in  command  of  it.  All  are  tired  and 
dusty;  but  the  soldiers  are  dogged  and  indifferent,  the 
Christians  light-hearted  and  determined  to  treat  their 
hardships  as  a  joke  and  encourage  one  another. 

A  bugle  is  heard  far  behind  on  the  road,  where  the  rest 
of  the  cohort  is  following. 

Centurion  (stopping)  Halt !  Orders  from  the  Cap- 
tain. (They  halt  and  7vait).  Now  then,  you  Christians, 
none  of  your  larks.  The  captain's  coming.  Mind  you 
behave  yourselves.  No  singing.  Look  respectful.  Look 
serious,  if  youre  capable  of  it.  See  that  big  building 
over  there?  That's  the  Coliseum.  That's  where  youll 
be  thrown  to  the  lions  or  set  to  fight  the  gladiators  pres- 
ently. Think  of  that;  and  itll  help  you  to  behave  prop- 
erly before  the  captain.  (The  Captain  arrives).  At- 
tention!  Salute!    (The  soldiers  salute). 

9 


10  Androcles  and  the  Lion        Act  I 

A  Christian  {cheerfully)  God  bless  you,  Captain. 

The  Centurion  (scandalized)  Silence ! 

The  Captain,  a  patrician,  handsome,  about  thirty-five, 
very  cold  and  distinguished,  very  superior  and  authori- 
tative, steps  up  on  a  stone  seat  at  the  west  side  of  the 
square,  behind  the  centurion,  so  as  to  dominate  the  others 
more  effectually. 

The  Captain.     Centurion. 

The  Centurion  (standing  at  attention  and  saluting) 
Sir? 

The  Captain  (speaking  stiffly  and  officially)  You 
will  remind  your  men,  Centurion,  that  we  are  now  enter- 
ing Rome.  You  will  instruct  them  that  once  inside  the 
gates  of  Rome  they  are  in  the  presence  of  the  Emperor. 
You  will  make  them  understand  that  the  lax  discipline 
of  the  march  cannot  be  permitted  here.  You  will  in- 
struct them  to  shave  every  day,  not  every  week.  You 
will  impress  on  them  particularly  that  there  must  be  an 
end  to  the  profanity  and  blasphemy  of  singing  Christian 
hymns  on  the  march.  I  have  to  reprimand  you,  Cen- 
turion, for  not  only  allowing  this,  but  actually  doing  it 
yourself. 

The  Centurion  (apologetic)  The  men  march  bet- 
ter, Captain. 

The  Captain.  No  doubt.  For  that  reason  an  excep- 
tion is  made  in  the  case  of  the  march  called  Onward 
Christian  Soldiers.  This  may  be  sung,  except  when 
marching  through  the  forum  or  within  hearing  of  the 
Emperor's  palace;  but  the  words  must  be  altered  to 
"Throw  them  to  the  Lions." 

The  Christians  burst  into  shrieks  of  uncontrollable 
laughter,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the  Centurion. 

Centurion.  Silence!  Silen-n-n-n-nce !  Wheres  your 
behavior.?  Is  that  the  way  to  listen  to  an  officer?  (To 
the  Captain)  Thats  what  we  have  to  put  up  with  from 


Act  I        AndrocLes  and  the  Lion  11 

these  Christians  every  day,  sir.  Theyre  always  laugh- 
ing and  joking  something  scandalous.  Theyve  no  re- 
ligion :  thats  how  it  is. 

Lavinia.  But  I  think  the  Captain  meant  us  to  laugh. 
Centurion.     It  was  so  funny. 

Centurion.  Youll  find  out  how  funny  it  is  when 
youre  thrown  to  the  lions  to-morrow.  {To  the  Captain, 
who  looks  displeased)  Beg  pardon.  Sir.  {To  the 
Christians)    Silennnnce ! 

The  Captain.  You  are  to  instruct  your  men  that  all 
intimacy  with  Christian  prisoners  must  now  cease.  The 
men  have  fallen  into  habits  of  dependence  upon  the  pris- 
oners, especially  the  female  prisoners,  for  cooking,  re- 
pairs to  uniforms,  writing  letters,  and  advice  in  their 
private  affairs.  In  a  Roman  soldier  such  dependence  is 
inadmissible.  Let  me  see  no  more  of  it  whilst  we  are 
in  the  city.  Further,  your  orders  are  that  in  addressing 
Christian  prisoners,  the  manners  and  tone  of  your  men 
must  express  abhorrence  and  contempt.  Any  shortcom- 
ing in  this  respect  will  be  regarded  as  a  breach  of  dis- 
cipline.    {He  turns  to  the  prisoners)     Prisoners. 

Centurion  {fiercely)  Prisonerrrrrs !  Tention !  Si- 
lence ! 

The  Captain.  I  call  your  attention,  prisoners,  to  the 
fact  that  you  may  be  called  on  to  appear  in  the  Imperial 
Circus  at  any  time  from  tomorrow  onwards  according  to 
the  requirements  of  the  managers.  I  may  inform  you 
that  as  there  is  a  shortage  of  Christians  just  now,  you 
may  expect  to  be  called  on  very  soon. 

Lavinia.     What  will  they  do  to  us,  Captain  ? 

Centurion.     Silence ! 

The  Captain.  The  women  will  be  conducted  into  the 
arena  with  the  wild  beasts  of  the  Imperial  INIenagerie, 
and  will  suffer  the  consequences.  The  men,  if  of  an  age 
to  bear  arms,  will  be  given  weapons  to  defend  themselves, 
if  they  choose,  against  the  Imperial  Gladiators. 


12  Androcles  and  the  Lion         Act  I 

Lavinia.  Captain:  is  there  no  hope  that  this  cruel 
persecution — 

Centurion  (shocked)  Silence !  Hold  your  tongue, 
there.     Persecution^  indeed ! 

The  Captain  (unmoved  and  somewhat  sardonic)  Per- 
secution is  not  a  term  applicable  to  the  acts  of  the  Em- 
peror. The  Emperor  is  the  Defender  of  the  Faith.  In 
throwing  you  to  the  lions  he  will  be  upholding  the  in- 
terests of  religion  in  Rome.  If  you  were  to  throw  him 
to  the  lions,  that  would  no  doubt  be  persecution. 

The  Christians  again  laugh  heartily. 

Centurion  (horrified)  Silence,  I  tell  j'ou!  Keep 
silence  there.     Did  anyone  ever  hear  the  like  of  this? 

Lavinia.  Captain:  there  will  be  nobody  to  appreciate 
your  jokes  when  we  are  gone. 

The  Captain  (unshaken  in  his  official  delivery)  I  call 
the  attention  of  the  female  prisoner  Lavinia  to  the  fact 
that  as  the  Emperor  is  a  divine  personage,  her  imputation 
of  cruelty  is  not  only  treason,  but  sacrilege.  I  point  out 
to  her  further  that  there  is  no  foundation  for  the  charge, 
as  the  Emperor  does  not  desire  that  any  prisoner  should 
suffer;  nor  can  any  Christian  be  harmed  save  through 
his  or  her  own  obstinacy.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to 
sacrifice  to  the  gods:  a  simple  and  convenient  ceremony 
effected  by  dropping  a  pinch  of  incense  on  the  altar, 
after  which  the  prisoner  is  at  once  set  free.  Under  such 
circumstances  you  have  only  your  own  perverse  folly  to 
blame  if  you  suffer.  I  suggest  to  you  that  if  you  cannot 
burn  a  morsel  of  incense  as  a  matter  of  conviction,  you 
might  at  least  do  so  as  a  matter  of  good  taste,  to  avoid 
shocking  the  religious  convictions  of  your  fellow  citizens. 
I  am  aware  that  these  considerations  do  not  weigh  with 
Christians ;  but  it  is  my  duty  to  call  your  attention  to 
them  in  order  that  you  may  have  no  ground  for  complain- 
ing of  your  treatment,  or  of  accusing  the  Emperor  of 
cruelty  when  he  is  shewing  you  the  most  signal  clemency. 


Act  I        Androcles  and  the  Lion  13 

Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view,  every  Christian  who 
has  perished  in  the  arena  has  really  committed  suicide. 

Lavinia.  Captain:  your  jokes  are  too  grim.  Do  not 
think  it  is  easy  for  us  to  die.  Our  faith  makes  life  far 
stronger  and  more  wonderful  in  us  than  when  we  walked 
in  darkness  and  had  notliing  to  live  for.  Death  is  harder 
for  us  than  for  you :  the  martyr's  agony  is  as  bitter  as  his 
triumph  is  glorious. 

The  Captain  {rather  troubled,  addressing  her  per- 
sonally and  gravely)  A  martyr,  Lavinia,  is  a  fool.  Your 
death  will  prove  nothing. 

Lavinia.    Then  why  kill  me? 

The  Captain.  I  mean  that  truth,  if  there  be  any 
truth,  needs  no  martyrs. 

Lavinia.  No;  but  my  faith,  like  your  sword,  needs 
testing.  Can  you  test  your  sword  excejit  by  staking  your 
life  on  it? 

The  Captain  (^suddenly  resuming  his  official  tone)  I 
call  the  attention  of  the  female  prisoner  to  the  fact  that 
Christians  are  not  allowed  to  draw  the  Emperor's  officers 
into  arguments  and  put  questions  to  them  for  which  the 
military  regulations  provide  no  answer.  {The  Christians 
titter). 

Lavinia.     Captain:  how  can  you? 

The  Captain.  I  call  the  female  prisoner's  attention 
specially  to  the  fact  tliat  four  comfortable  homes  have 
been  offered  her  by  officers  of  this  regiment,  of  which  she 
can  have  her  choice  the  moment  she  chooses  to  sacrifice 
as  all  well-bred  Roman  ladies  do.  I  have  no  more  to  say 
to  the  prisoners. 

Centurion.     Dismiss !     But  stay  where  you  are. 

The  Captain.  Centurion:  you  will  remain  here  with 
your  men  in  charge  of  the  prisoners  until  the  arrival  of 
three  Christian  prisoners  in  the  custody  of  a  cohort  of  the 
tenth  legion.  Among  these  prisoners  you  will  particu- 
larly identify  an  armorer  named  Fcrrovius,  of  dangerous 


14  Androcles  and  the  Lion        Act  I 

character  and  great  personal  strength,  and  a  Greek  tailor 
reputed  to  be  a  sorcerer,  by  name  Androcles.  You  wiU 
add  the  three  to  your  charge  here  and  march  them  all 
to  the  Coliseum,  where  you  will  deUver  them  into  the 
custody  of  the  master  of  the  gladiators  and  take  his  re- 
ceipt, countersigned  by  the  keeper  of  the  beasts  and  the 
acting  manager.     You  understand  your  instructions? 

Centurion.     Yes,  sir. 

The  Captain.  Dismiss.  {He  throws  off  his  air  of 
parade,  and  descends  down  from  the  perch.  The  Cen- 
turion seats  on  it  and  prepares  for  a  nap,  whilst  his  men 
stand  at  ease.  The  Christians  sit  down  on  the  west  side 
of  the  square,  glad  to  rest.  Lavinia  alone  remains  stand- 
ing to  speak  to  the  Captain). 

Lavinia.  Captain:  is  this  man  who  is  to  join  us  the 
famous  Ferrovius,  who  has  made  such  wonderful  conver- 
sions in  the  northern  cities? 

The  Captain.  Yes.  We  are  warned  that  he  has  the 
strength  of  an  elephant  and  the  temper  of  a  mad  bull. 
Also  that  he  is  stark  mad.  Not  a  model  Christian,  it 
would  seem. 

Lavinia.  You  need  not  fear  him  if  he  is  a  Christian, 
Captain. 

The  Captain  (coldly)  I  shall  not  fear  him  in  any 
case,  Lavinia. 

Lavinia  (her  eyes  dancing)  How  brave  of  you. 
Captain ! 

The  Captain.  You  are  right:  it  was  silly  thing  to  say. 
(In  a  lower  tone,  humane  and  urgent)  Lavinia:  do 
Christians  know  how  to  love? 

Lavinia  (composedly)  Yes,  Captain:  they  love  even 
their  enemies. 

The  Captain.    Is  that  easy? 

Lavinia.  Very  easy.  Captain,  when  their  enemies  are 
as  handsome  as  you. 

The  Captain.    Lavinia :  you  are  laughing  at  me. 


Act  I        Androcles  and  the  Lion  15 

Lavinia.     At  you,  Captain !     Impossible. 

The  Captain.  Then  you  are  flirting  with  me,  which 
is  worse.     Don't  be  foolish. 

Lavinia.     But  such  a  very  handsome  captain. 

The  Captain.  Incorrigible!  (Urgently)  Listen  to 
me.  The  men  in  that  audience  tomorrow  will  be  the 
vilest  of  voluptuaries :  men  in  whom  the  only  passion  ex- 
cited by  a  beautiful  woman  is  a  lust  to  see  her  tortured 
and  torn  shrieking  limb  from  limb.  It  is  a  crime  to 
gratify  that  passion.  It  is  offering  yourself  for  viola- 
tion by  the  whole  rabble  of  the  streets  and  the  riff-raff 
of  the  court  at  the  same  time.  Why  will  you  not  choose 
rather  a  kindly  love  and  an  honorable  alliance? 

Lavinia.  They  cannot  violate  my  soul.  I  alone  can 
do  that  by  sacrificing  to  false  gods. 

The  Captain.  Sacrifice  then  to  the  true  God.  Wliat 
does  his  name  matter.^  We  call  him  Jupiter.  The  Greeks 
call  him  Zeus.  Call  him  what  you  will  as  you  drop  the 
incense  on  the  altar  flame:  He  will  understand. 

Lavinia.  No.  I  couldnt.  That  is  the  strange  thing, 
Captain,  that  a  little  pinch  of  incense  should  make  all 
that  difference.  Religion  is  such  a  great  thing  that  when 
I  meet  really  religious  people  we  are  friends  at  once,  no 
matter  what  name  we  give  to  the  divine  will  that  made 
us  and  moves  us.  Oh,  do  you  think  that  I,  a  woman, 
would  quarrel  with  you  for  sacrificing  to  a  woman  god 
like  Diana,  if  Diana  meant  to  you  what  Christ  means  to 
me?  No:  we  should  kneel  side  by  side  before  her  altar 
like  two  children.  But  when  men  who  believe  neither  in 
my  god  nor  in  their  own — men  who  do  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word  religion — ^when  these  men  drag  me 
to  the  foot  of  an  iron  statue  that  has  become  the  symbol 
of  the  terror  and  darkness  through  which  they  walk,  of 
their  cruelty  and  greed,  of  their  hatred  of  God  and  their 
oppression  of  man — when  they  ask  me  to  pledge  ray  soul 
before  the  people  that  this  hideous  idol  is  God,  and  that 


-r 


16  Androcles  and  the  Lion        Act  I 

all  this  wickedness  and  falsehood  is  divine  truth,  I  can- 
not do  it,  not  if  they  could  put  a  thousand  cruel  deaths 
on  me.  I  tell  you,  it  is  physically  impossible.  Listen, 
Captain:  did  you  ever  try  to  catch  a  mouse  in  your  hand? 
Once  there  was  a  dear  little  mouse  that  used  to  come  out 
and  play  on  my  table  as  I  was  reading.  I  wanted  to 
take  him  in  my  hand  and  caress  him;  and  sometimes  he 
got  among  my  books  so  that  he  could  not  escape  me  when 
I  stretched  out  my  hand.  And  I  did  stretch  out  my 
hand;  but  it  always  came  back  in  spite  of  me.  I  was 
not  afraid  of  him  in  my  heart;  but  my  hand  refused:  it 
is  not  in  the  nature  of  my  hand  to  touch  a  mouse.  Well, 
Captain,  if  I  took  a  pinch  of  incense  in  my  hand  and 
stretched  it  out  over  the  altar  fire,  my  hand  would  come 
back.  My  body  would  be  true  to  my  faith  even  if  you 
could  corrupt  my  mind.  And  all  the  time  I  should  be- 
lieve more  in  Diana  than  my  persecutors  have  ever  be- 
lieved in  anything.     Can  you  understand  that-f" 

The  Captain  (sunphj)  Yes:  I  understand  that.  But 
my  hand  would  not  come  back.  The  hand  that  holds  the 
sword  has  been  trained  not  to  come  back  from  an)rthing 
but  victory. 

Lavinia.     Not  even  from  death? 

The  Captain.     Least  of  all  from  death. 

Lavinia.  Then  I  must  not  come  back  from  death 
either.    A  woman  has  to  be  braver  than  a  soldier. 

The  Captain.     Prouder,  you  mean. 

Lavinia  (startled)  Prouder!  You  call  our  courage 
pride ! 

The  Captain.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  courage: 
there  is  only  pride.  You  Christians  are  the  proudest 
devils  on  earth. 

Lavinia  (hurt)  Pray  God  then  my  pride  may  never 
become  a  false  pride.  (She  turns  away  as  if  she  did  not 
wish  to  continue  the  conversation,  hut  softens  and  says 
to  him  with  a  smile)   Thank  you  for  trying  to  save  me. 


Act  I        Androcles  and  the  Lion  17 

The  Captain.  I  knew  it  was  no  use;  but  one  tries  in 
spite  of  one's  knowledge. 

Lavinia.  Something  stirs,  even  in  the  iron  breast  of 
a  Roman  soldier ! 

The  Captain.  It  will  soon  be  iron  again.  I  have  seen 
many  women  die,  and  forgotten  them  in  a  week. 

Lavinia.  Remember  me  for  a  fortnight,  handsome 
Captain.     I  shall  be  watching  you,  perhaps. 

The  Captain.  From  the  skies?  Do  not  deceive  your- 
self, Lavinia.  There  is  no  future  for  you  beyond  the 
grave. 

Lavinia.  What  does  that  matter  .?>  Do  you  think  I 
am  only  running  away  from  the  terrors  of  life  into  the 
comfort  of  heaven.'*  If  there  were  no  future,  or  if  the 
future  were  one  of  torment,  I  should  have  to  go  just  the 
same.     The  hand  of  God  is  upon  me. 

The  Captain.  Yes :  when  all  is  said,  we  are  both  patri- 
cians, Lavinia,  and  must  die  for  our  beliefs.  Farewell. 
{He  offers  her  his  hand.  She  takes  it  and  presses  it.  He 
walks  arvay,  trim  and  calm.  She  looks  after  him  for  a 
moment,  and  cries  a  little  as  he  disappears  through  the 
eastern  arch.  A  trumpet-call  is  heard  from  the  road 
through  the  western  arch). 

Centurion  (waking  up  and  rising)  Cohort  of  the 
tenth  with  prisoners.  Two  file  out  with  me  to  receive 
them.  (He  goes  out  through  the  western  arch,  followed 
by  four  soldiers  in  two  files). 

Lentulus  and  Metellus  come  into  the  square  from  the 
west  side  with  a  little  retinue  of  servants.  Both  are 
young  courtiers,  dressed  in  the  extremity  of  fashion. 
Lentulus  is  slender,  fair-haired,  epicene.  Metellus  is 
manly,  compactly  built,  olive  skinned,  not  a  talker. 

Lentulus.     Christians,  by  Jove  !    Lets  chaff  them. 

Metellus.      Awful    brutes.      If   you    knew    as    much 
about  them   as   I   do  you  wouldnt  want  to  chaff  them. 
Leave  them  to  the  lions. 
10 


18  Androcles  and  the  Lion         Act  I 

Lentulus  {indicating  Lavinia,  who  is  still  looking 
towards  the  arches  after  the  captain).  That  woman's  got 
a  figure.  {He  walks  past  her,  staring  at  her  invitingly j 
but  she  is  preoccupied  and  is  not  conscious  of  him).  Do 
you  turn  the  other  cheek  when  they  kiss  you? 

Lavinia    (starting)   What? 

Lentulus.  Do  you  turn  the  other  cheek  when  they 
kiss  you,  fascinating  Christian? 

Lavinia.  Don't  be  foolish.  (To  Metellus,  who  has 
remained  on  her  right,  so  that  she  is  between  them) 
Please  dont  let  your  friend  behave  like  a  cad  before  the 
soldiers.  How  are  they  to  respect  and  obey  patricians  if 
they  see  them  behaving  like  street  boys?  (Sharply  to 
Lentulus)  Pull  yourself  together,  man.  Hold  your 
head  up.  Keep  the  corners  of  your  mouth  firm;  and 
treat  me  respectfully.    What  do  you  take  me  for? 

Lentulus  (irresolutely)  Look  here,  you  know:  I — 
you — I — 

Lavinia.  Stuff !  Go  about  your  business.  (She  turns 
decisively  away  and  sits  down  with  her  comrades,  leav- 
ing him  disconcerted). 

Metellus.  You  didnt  get  much  out  of  that.  I  told 
you  they  were  brutes. 

Lentulus.  Plucky  little  filly !  I  suppose  she  thinks 
I  care.  (With  an  air  of  indifference  he  strolls  with  Len- 
tulus to  the  east  side  of  the  square,  where  they  stand 
watching  the  return  of  the  Centurion  through  the  western 
arch  with  his  men,  escorting  three  prisoners:  Ferrovius, 
Androcles,  and  Spintho.  Ferrovius  is  a  powerful,  choleric 
man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  large  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 
and  a  thick  neck:  a  man  whose  sensibilities  are  keen  and 
violent  to  the  verge  of  madness.  Spintho  is  a  debauchee, 
the  wreck  of  a  good-looking  man  gone  hopelessly  to  the 
bad.  Androcles  is  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and  is  re- 
straining his  tears  with  great  difficulty). 

The  Centurion    (to  Lavinia)     Here  are  some  pals 


Act  I        Aiidrocles  and  the  Lion  19 

for  you.  This  little  bit  is  Ferrovius  that  you  talk  so 
much  about.  (Ferrovius  turns  on  him  threateningly. 
The  Centurion  holds  up  his  left  forefinger  in  admoni- 
tion). Now  remember  that  youre  a  Christian,  and  that 
you've  got  to  return  good  for  evil.  (Ferrovius  controls 
himself  convulsively j  moves  away  from  temptation  to  the 
east  side  near  Lentulus;  clasps  his  hands  in  silent  prayer; 
and  throws  himself  on  his  knees).  Thats  the  way  to 
manage  them,  eh!  This  fine  fellow  (indicating  AndrO' 
cles,  who  comes  to  his  left,  and  makes  Lavinia  a  heart- 
broken salutation)  is  a  sorcerer.  A  Greek  tailor,  he  is. 
A  real  sorcerer,  too:  no  mistake  about  it.  The  tenth 
marches  with  a  leopard  at  the  head  of  the  column.  He 
made  a  pet  of  the  leopard ;  and  now  he's  crying  at  being 
parted  from  it.  (Androcles  sniffs  lamentably).  Aint 
you,  old  chap?  Well,  cheer  up,  we  march  with  a  Billy 
goat  (Androcles  brightens  up)  thats  killed  two  leopards 
and  ate  a  turkey-cock.  You  can  have  him  for  a  pet  if 
you  like.  (Androcles,  quite  consoled,  goes  past  the  Cen- 
turion to  Lavinia,  and  sits  down  contentedly  on  the 
ground  on  her  left).  This  dirty  dog  (collaring  Spintho) 
is  a  real  Christian.  He  mobs  the  temples,  he  does  (at 
each  accusation  he  gives  the  neck  of  Spintho's  tunic  a 
twist)  ;  he  goes  smashing  things  mad  drunk,  he  does ;  he 
steals  the  gold  vessels,  he  does;  he  assaults  the  priest- 
esses, he  does — ^yah !  (He  flings  Spintho  into  the  middle 
of  the  group  of  prisoners) .  Youre  the  sort  that  makes 
duty  a  pleasure,  you  are. 

Spintho  (gasping)  Thats  it:  strangle  me.  Kick 
me.  Beat  me.  Revile  me.  Our  Lord  was  beaten  and 
reviled.  Thats  my  way  to  heaven.  Every  martyr  goes 
to  heaven,  no  matter  what  hes  done.  That  is  so,  isnt  it, 
brother  ? 

Centurion.  Well,  if  youre  going  to  heaven,  I  dont 
want  to  go  there.     I  wouldnt  be  seen  with  you. 

Lentulus.     Haw !     Good !     (Indicating  the  kneeling 


20  Androcles  and  the  Lion        Act  I 

Ferrovius).  Is  this  one  of  the  turn-the-other-cheek  gen- 
tlemen. Centurion? 

Centurion.  Yes,  sir.  Lucky  for  you  too,  sir,  if  you 
want  to  take  any  liberties  with.  him. 

Lentulus  (to  Ferrovius)  You  turn  the  other  cheek 
when  youre  struck,  I'm  told. 

Ferrovius  (slowly  turning  his  great  eyes  on  him) 
Yes,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  do,  now. 

Lentulus.  Not  that  youre  a  coward,  of  course;  but 
out  of  pure  piety. 

Ferrovius.  I  fear  God  more  than  man;  at  least  I 
try  to. 

Lentulus.  Lets  see.  (He  strikes  him  on  the  cheek. 
Androcles  makes  a  wild  movement  to  rise  and  interfere; 
but  Lavinia  holds  him  down,  watching  Ferrovius  intently, 
Ferrovius,  without  flinching,  turns  the  other  cheek.  Len- 
tulus, rather  out  of  countenance,  titters  foolishly,  and 
strikes  him  again  feebly).  You  know,  I  should  feel 
ashamed  if  I  let  myself  be  struck  like  that,  and  took  it 
lying  down.  But  then  I'm  not  a  Christian:  I'm  a  man. 
(Ferrovius  rises  impressively  and  towers  over  him.  Len- 
tulus becomes  white  with  terror;  and  a  shade  of  green 
flickers  in  his  cheek  for  a  moment). 

Ferrovius  (with  the  calm  of  a  steam  hammer)  I  have 
not  always  been  faithful.  The  first  man  who  struck  me 
as  you  have  just  struck  me  was  a  stronger  man  than  you: 
he  hit  me  harder  than  I  expected.  I  was  tempted  and 
fell;  and  it  was  then  that  I  first  tasted  bitter  shame.  I 
never  had  a  happy  moment  after  that  until  I  had  knelt 
and  asked  his  forgiveness  by  his  bedside  in  the  hospital. 
(Putting  his  hands  on  Lentulus's  shoulders  with  paternal 
weight).  But  now  I  have  learnt  to  resist  with  a  strength 
that  is  not  my  ovra.     I  am  not  ashamed  now,  nor  angry. 

Lentulus  (uneasily)  Er — good  evening.  (He  tries 
to  move  away). 

Ferrovius     (gripping    his    shoulders)     Oh,    do    not 


Act  I        Androcles  and  the  Lion  21 

harden  your  heart,  young  man.  Come:  try  for  yourself 
whether  our  way  is  not  better  than  yours.  I  will  now 
strike  you  on  one  cheek;  and  you  will  turn  the  other  and 
learn  how  much  better  you  will  feel  than  if  you  gave  way 
to  the  promptings  of  anger.  (He  holds  him  with  one 
hand  and  clenches  the  other  fist). 

Lentulus.     Centurion :  I  call  on  you  to  protect  me. 

Centurion.  You  asked  for  it,  sir.  Its  no  business 
of  ours.  Youve  had  two  wliacks  at  him.  Better  pay 
him  a  trifle  and  square  it  that  way. 

Lentulus.  Yes,  of  course.  {To  Ferrovius)  It  was 
only  a  bit  of  f im,  I  assure  you :  I  meant  no  harm.  Here. 
{He  proffers  a  gold  coin). 

Ferrovius  (taking  it  and  throwing  it  to  the  old  beggar, 
who  snatches  it  up  eagerly,  and  hobbles  off  to  spend  it) 
Give  all  thou  hast  to  the  poor.  Come,  friend :  courage ! 
I  may  hurt  your  body  for  a  moment;  but  your  soul  will 
rejoice  in  the  victory  of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh.  (He 
prepares  to  strike). 

Androcles.  Easy,  Ferrovius,  easy:  you  broke  the  last 
man's  jaw. 

Lentidus,  with  a  moan  of  terror,  attempts  to  fly;  hut 
Ferrovius  holds  him  ruthlessly. 

Ferrovius.  Yes ;  but  I  saved  his  soul.  What  matters 
a  broken  jaw? 

Lentulus.  Don't  touch  me,  do  you  hear?  The 
law — 

Ferrovius.  The  law  will  throw  me  to  the  lions  to- 
morrow: what  worse  could  it  do  were  I  to  slay  you? 
Pray  for  strength;  and  it  shall  be  given  to  you. 

Lentulus.  Let  me  go.  Your  religion  forbids  you  to 
strike  me. 

Ferrovius.  On  the  contrary,  it  commands  me  to 
strike  you.  How  can  you  turn  the  other  cheek,  if  you 
arc  not  first  struck  on  the  one  cheek? 

Lentulus     (almost  in  tears)    But  I'm  convinced  al- 


22  Androcles  and  the  Lion  Act  I 

ready  that  what  you  said  is  quite  right.  I  apologize  for 
striking  you. 

Ferrovius  {greatly  pleased)  My  son:  have  I  softened 
your  heart?  Has  the  good  seed  fallen  in  a  fruitful  place.'' 
Are  your  feet  turning  towards  a  better  path? 

Lentulus  {abjectly)  Yes,  yes.  Theres  a  great  deal 
in  what  you  say. 

Ferrovius  {radiant)  Join  us.  Come  to  the  lions. 
Come  to  suffering  and  death. 

Lentulus  {falling  on  his  Jcnees  and  bursting  into 
tears)    Oh,  help  me.     Mother  !  mother  ! 

Ferrovius.  These  tears  will  water  your  soul  and  make 
it  bring  forth  good  fruit,  my  son.  God  has  greatly 
blessed  my  efforts  at  conversion.  Shall  I  tell  you  a 
miracle — yes,  a  miracle — wrought  by  me  in  Cappadocia? 
A  yoimg  man — just  such  a  one  as  you,  with  golden  hair 
like  yours — scoffed  at  and  struck  me  as  you  scoffed 
at  and  struck  me.  I  sat  up  all  night  with  that  youth 
wrestling  for  his  soul;  and  in  the  morning  not  only 
was  he  a  Christian,  but  his  hair  was  as  white  as  snow. 
{Lentidus  falls  in  a  dead  faint).  There,  there: 
take  him  away.  The  spirit  has  overwrought  him,  poor 
lad.  Carry  him  gently  to  his  house;  and  leave  the  rest 
to  heaven. 

Centurion.  Take  him  home.  {The  servants,  intimi- 
dated, hastily  carry  him  out.  Metellus  is  about  to  follow 
when  Ferrovius  lays  his  hand  on  his  shoulder). 

Ferrovius.  You  are  his  friend,  young  man.  You  will 
see  that  he  is  taken  safely  home. 

Metellus  {with  awestrticlc  civility)  Certainly,  sir. 
I  shall  do  whatever  you  think  best.  Most  happy  to  have 
made  your  acquaintance,  Fm  sure.  You  may  depend  on 
me.     Good  evening,  sir. 

Ferrovius  {with  unction)  The  blessing  of  heaven 
upon  you  and  him. 

Metellus  follorvs  Lentulus.     The  Centurion  returns  to 


Act  I         Androcles  and  the  Lion  23 

his  seat  to  resume  his  interrupted  nap.  The  deepest  awe 
has  settled  on  the  spectators.  Ferrovius,  with  a  long 
sigh  of  happiness,  goes  to  Lavinia,  and  offers  her  his 
hand. 

Lavinia  (taking  it)  So  that  is  how  you  convert  peo- 
ple, Ferrovius. 

Ferrovius.  Yes:  there  has  been  a  blessing  on  my 
work  in  spite  of  my  unworthiness  and  my  backslidings — 
all  through  my  wicked,  devilish  temper.     This  man — 

Androcles  {hastily)  Dont  slap  me  on  the  back, 
brother.     She  knows  you  mean  me. 

Ferrovius.  How  I  wish  I  were  weak  like  our  brother 
here!  for  then  I  should  perhaps  be  meek  and  gentle  like 
him.  And  yet  there  seems  to  be  a  special  providence 
that  makes  my  trials  less  than  his.  I  hear  tales  of  the 
crowd  scoffing  and  casting  stones  and  reviling  the  breth- 
ren; but  when  I  come,  all  this  stops:  my  influence  calms 
the  passions  of  the  mob:  they  listen  to  me  in  silence;  and 
infidels  are  often  converted  by  a  straight  heart-to-heart 
talk  with  me.  Every  day  I  feel  happier,  more  confident. 
Every  day  lightens  the  load  of  the  great  terror. 

Lavinia.     The  great  terror?     What  is  that? 

Ferrovius  shakes  his  head  and  does  not  answer.  He 
sits  down  beside  her  on  her  left,  and  buries  his  face  in  his 
hands  in  glooiny  meditation, 

Androcles.  Well,  you  see,  sister,  hes  never  quite 
sure  of  himself.  Suppose  at  the  last  moment  in  the  arena, 
with  the  gladiators  there  to  fight  him,  one  of  them  was 
to  say  anything  to  annoy  him,  he  might  forget  himself 
and  lay  that  gladiator  out. 

Lavinia.     That  Avould  be  splendid. 

Ferrovius    (springing  up  in  horror)  Wliat ! 

Androcles.     Oh,  sister ! 

Ferrovius.  Splendid  to  betray  my  master,  like  Peter ! 
Splendid  to  act  like  any  common  blackguard  in  the  day 
of  my  proving!     Woman:   you  are  no  Christian.      (He 


24  Androcles  and  the  Lion  Act  I 

moves  away  from  her  to  the  middle  of  the  square,  as  if 
her  neighborhood  contaminated  him). 

Lavinia  {laughing)  You  know,  Ferrovius,  I  am  not 
always  a  Christian.  I  dont  think  anybody  is.  There 
are  moments  when  I  forget  all  about  it,  and  something 
comes  out  quite  naturally,  as  it  did  then. 

Spintho.  What  does  it  matter?  If  you  die  in  the 
arena,  youU  be  a  martyr;  and  all  martyrs  go  to  heaven, 
no  matter  what  they  have  done.  Thats  so,  isnt  it, 
Ferrovius  ? 

Ferrovius.  Yes:  that  is  so,  if  we  are  faithful  to  the 
end. 

Lavinia.     I'm  not  so  sure. 

Spintho.  Dont  say  that.  Thats  blasphemy.  Dont 
say  that,  I  tell  you.  We  shall  be  saved,  no  matter  what 
we  do. 

Lavinia.  Perhaps  you  men  will  all  go  into  heaven 
bravely  and  in  triumph,  with  your  heads  erect  and  golden 
trumpets  sounding  for  you.  But  I  am  sure  shall  only 
be  allowed  to  squeeze  myself  in  through  a  little  crack 
in  the  gate  after  a  great  deal  of  begging.  I  am  not  good 
always:  I  have  moments  only. 

Spintho.  Youre  talking  nonsense,  woman.  I  tell 
you,  martyrdom  pays  all  scores. 

Androcles.  Well,  let  us  hope  so,  brother,  for  your 
sake.  Youve  had  a  gay  time,  havent  you?  with  your 
raids  on  the  temples.  I  cant  help  thinking  that  heaven 
will  be  very  dull  for  a  man  of  your  temperament. 
(Spintho  snarls).  Dont  be  angry:  I  say  it  only  to  con- 
sole you  in  case  you  should  die  in  your  bed  tonight  in  the 
natural  way.     Theres  a  lot  of  plague  about. 

Spintho  (rising  and  running  about  in  abject  terror) 
I  never  thought  of  that.  O  Lord,  spare  me  to  be  mar- 
tyred. Oh,  what  a  thought  to  put  into  the  mind  of  a 
brother !  Oh,  let  me  be  martyred  today,  now.  I  shall 
die  in  the  night  and  go  to  hell.     Youre  a  sorcerer:  youve 


Act  I         Androcles  and  the  Lion  25 

put  death  into  my  mind.  Oh,  curse  you,  curse  you !  (//e 
tries  to  seise  Androcles  by  the  throat). 

Ferrovius  {holding  him  in  a  grip  of  iron)  Whats 
this,  brother?  Anger!  Violence!  Raising  your  hand 
to  a  brother  Christian ! 

Spintho.  It's  easy  for  you.  Youre  strong.  Your 
nerves  are  all  right.  But  I'm  full  of  disease.  (Ferrovius 
takes  his  hand  from  him  with  instinctive  disgust).  Ive 
drunk  all  my  nerves  away.  I  shall  have  the  horrors  all 
night. 

Androcles  (sympathetic)  Oh,  dont  take  on  so, 
brother.     We're  all  sinners. 

Spintho  (snivelling,  trying  to  feel  consoled).  Yes:  I 
daresay  if  the  truth  were  known,  youre  all  as  bad  as  I  am. 

Lavinia   (contemptuously)   Does  that  comfort  you? 

Ferrovius    (sternly)    Pray,  man,  pray. 

Spintho.  Whats  the  good  of  praying?  If  we're  mar- 
tyred we  shall  go  to  heaven,  shant  we,  whether  we  pray 
or  not? 

Ferrovius.  Whats  that?  Not  pray!  (Seising  him 
again)  Pray  this  instant,  you  dog,  you  rotten  hound, 
you  slimy  snake,  you  beastly  goat,  or — 

Spintho.  Yes:  beat  me:  kick  me.  I  forgive  you:  mind 
that. 

Ferrovius  (spurning  him  with  loathing)  Yah ! 
(Spintho  reels  away  and  falls  in  front  of  Ferrovius). 

Androcles  (reaching  out  and  catching  the  shirt  of 
Ferrovius's  tunic)  Dear  brother:  if  you  wouldnt  mind 
— just  for  my  sake — 

Ferrovius.    Well  ? 

Androcles.  Dont  call  him  by  the  names  of  the  ani- 
mals. Weve  no  right  to.  Ive  had  such  friends  in  dogs. 
A  pet  snake  is  the  best  of  company.  I  was  nursed  on 
goat's  milk.  Is  it  fair  to  them  to  call  the  like  of  him  a 
dog  or  a  snake  or  a  goat? 

Ferrovius.     I  only  meant  that  they  have  no  souls. 


26  Androcles  and  the  Lion  Act  I 

Androcles  {anxiously  protesting)  Oh,  believe  me, 
they  have.  Just  the  same  as  you  and  me.  I  really  dont 
think  I  could  consent  to  go  to  heaven  if  I  thought  there 
were  to  be  no  animals  there.  Think  of  what  they  suffer 
here. 

Ferrovius.  Thats  true.  Yes:  that  is  just.  They 
will  have  their  share  in  heaven. 

Spintho  {ivho  has  picked  himself  up  and  is  sneaking 
past  Ferrovius  on  his  left,  sneers  derisively)  !! 

Ferrovius  {turning  on  him  fiercely)  Whats  that 
you  say.^* 

Spintho  (corvering).     Nothing. 

Ferrovius  (clenching  his  fist)  Do  animals  go  to 
heaven  or  not.^ 

Spintho.     I  never  said  they  didnt. 

Ferrovius  (implacable)    Do  they  or  do  they  not.'' 

Spintho.  They  do:  they  do.  (Scrambling  out  of 
Ferrovius' s  reach).     Oh,  curse  you  for  frightening  me! 

A  bugle  call  is  heard. 

Centurion  (waking  up)  Tention !  Form  as  before. 
Now  then,  prisoners,  up  with  you  and  trot  along  spry. 
(The  soldiers  fall  in.     The  Christians  rise). 

A  man  with  an  ox  goad  comes  running  through  the 
central  arch. 

The  Ox  Driver.  Here,  you  soldiers !  clear  out  of  the 
way  for  the  Emperor. 

The  Centurion.  Emperor!  Wheres  the  Emperor? 
You  aint  the  Emperor,  are  you? 

The  Ox  Driver.  It's  the  menagerie  service.  My  team 
of  oxen  is  drawing  the  new  lion  to  the  Coliseum.  You 
clear  the  road. 

Centurion.  What!  Go  in  after  you  in  your  dust, 
with  half  the  town  at  the  heels  of  you  and  your  lion ! 
Not  likely.    We  go  first. 

The  Ox  Driver.  The  menagerie  service  is  the  Em- 
peror's personal  retinue.     You  clear  out,  I  tell  you. 


Act  I  Androcles  and  the  Lion  27 

Centurion.  You  tell  me^  do  you?  Well,  111  tell  you 
something.  If  the  lion  is  menagerie  service,  the  lion's 
dinner  is  menagerie  service  too.  This  {pointing  to  the 
Christians)  is  the  lion's  dinner.  So  back  with  you  to  your 
bullocks  double  quick;  and  learn  your  place.  March. 
(I'he  soldiers  start).  Now  then,  you  Christians,  step  out 
there. 

Lavinia  (marching)  Come  along,  the  rest  of  the  din- 
ner.    I  shall  be  the  olives  and  anchovies. 

Another  Christian  (laughing)     I  shall  be  the  soup. 

Another.     I  shall  be  the  fish. 

Another.     Ferrovius  shall  be  the  roast  boar. 

Ferrovius  (heavily)  I  see  the  joke.  Yes,  yes:  I 
shall  be  the  roast  boar.  Ha !  ha !  (He  laughs  conscien- 
tiously and  marches  out  with  them). 

Androcles.  I  shall  be  the  mince  pie.  (Each  an- 
nouncement is  received  with  a  louder  laugh  by  all  the  rest 
as  the  joke  catches  on). 

Centurion  (scandalised)  Silence !  Have  some  sense 
of  your  situation.  Is  this  the  way  for  martyrs  to  behave.'' 
(To  Spintho,  who  is  quaking  and  loitering)  I  know 
what  y  o  u  1 1  be  at  that  dinner.  Youll  be  the  emetic. 
(He  shoves  him  rudely  along). 

Spintho.     Its  too  dreadful:  I'm  not  fit  to  die. 

Centurion.     Fitter  than  you  are  to  live,  you  swine. 

They  pass  from  the  square  westward.  The  oxen,  draw- 
ing a  waggon  with  a  great  wooden  cage  and  the  lion  in 
it,  arrive  through  the  central  arch. 


ACT  II 

Behind  the  Emperor's  box  at  the  Coliseum,  where  the 
performers  assemble  before  entering  the  arena.  In  the 
middle  a  wide  passage  leading  to  the  arena  descends  from 
the  floor  level  under  the  imperial  box.  On  both  sides  of 
this  passage  steps  ascend  to  a  landing  at  the  back  en- 
trance to  the  box.  The  landing  forms  a  bridge  across 
the  passage.  At  the  entrance  to  the  passage  are  two 
bronze  mirrors,  one  on  each  side. 

On  the  west  side  of  this  passage,  on  the  right  hand 
of  any  one  coming  from  the  box  and  standing  on  the 
bridge,  the  martyrs  are  sitting  on  the  steps.  Lavinia  is 
seated  half-way  up,  thoughtful,  trying  to  look  death  in 
the  face.  On  her  left  Androcles  consoles  himself  by 
nursing  a  cat.  Ferrovius  stands  behind  them,  his  eyes 
blazing,  his  figure  stiff  with  intense  resolution.  At  the 
foot  of  the  steps  crouches  Spintho,  with  his  head  clutched 
in  his  hands,  full  of  horror  at  the  approach  of  martyrdom. 

On  the  east  side  of  the  passage  the  gladiators  are  stand- 
ing and  sitting  at  ease,  waiting,  like  the  Christians,  for 
their  turn  in  the  arena.  One  (Retiarius)  is  a  nearly 
naked  man  with  a  net  and  a  trident.  Another  (Sectitor) 
is  in  armor  with  a  sword.  He  carries  a  helmet  with  a 
barred  visor.  The  editor  of  the  gladiators  sits  on  a  chair 
a  little  apart  from  them. 

The  Call  Boy  enters  from  the  passage. 

The  Call  Boy.  Number  six.  Retiarius  versus  Secu- 
tor. 

The  gladiator  with  the  net  picks  it  up.  The  gladiator 
with  the  helmet  puts  it  on;  and  the  two  go  into  the  arena, 

£8 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  29 

the  net  thrower  taking  out  a  little  brush  and  arranging 
his  hair  as  he  goes,  the  other  tightening  his  straps  and 
shaking  his  shoidders  loose.  Both  look  at  themselves  in 
the  mirrors  before  they  enter  the  passage. 

Lavinia.     Will  they  really  kill  one  another? 

Spintho.     Yes,  if  the  people  turn  down  their  thumbs. 

The  Editor.  You  know  nothing  about  it.  The  people 
indeed !  Do  you  suppose  we  would  kill  a  man  worth 
perhaps  fifty  talents  to  please  the  riffraff.''  I  should  like 
to  catch  any  of  my  men  at  it, 

Spintho.     I  thought — 

The  Editor  {contemptuously')  You  thought!  Who 
cares  what  you  think  ?    Y  o  u  1 1  be  killed  all  right  enough. 

Spintho  {groans  and  again  hides  his  face)    !  !  ! 

Eavinia.  Then  is  nobody  ever  killed  except  us  poor 
Christians  ? 

The  Editor.  If  the  vestal  virgins  turn  down  their 
thumbs,  thats  another  matter.     Theyre  ladies  of  rank. 

Lavinia.     Does  the  Emperor  ever  interfere  ? 

The  Editor.  Oh,  yes:  he  turns  his  thumbs  up  fast 
enough  if  the  vestal  virgins  want  to  have  one  of  his  pet 
fighting  men  killed. 

Androcles.  But  dont  they  ever  just  only  pretend  to 
kill  one  another.^  Why  shouldnt  you  pretend  to  die,  and 
get  dragged  out  as  if  you  were  dead ;  and  then  get  up  and 
go  home,  like  an  actor? 

The  Editor.  See  here:  you  want  to  know  too  much. 
There  will  be  no  pretending  about  the  new  lion:  let  that 
be  enough  for  you.     Hes  hungry. 

Spintho  {groaning  7vith  horror)  Oh,  Lord!  cant 
you  stop  talking  about  it?  Isnt  it  bad  enough  for  us 
without  that? 

Androcles.  I'm  glad  hes  hungry.  Not  that  I  want 
him  to  suffer,  poor  chap!  but  then  hell  enjoy  eating  me 
so  much  more.     Theres  a  cheerful  side  to  everything. 

The  Editor  {rising  and  striding  over  to  Androcles) 


30  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

Here:  dont  you  be  obstinate.  Come  with  me  and  drop 
the  pinch  of  incense  on  the  altar.  Thats  all  you  need 
do  to  be  let  off. 

Androcles.  No:  thank  you  very  much  indeed;  but  I 
really  mustnt. 

The  Editor.    What !     Not  to  save  your  life .'' 

Androcles.  Id  rather  not.  I  couldnt  sacrifice  to 
Diana:  shes  a  huntress,  you  know,  and  kills  things. 

The  Editor.  That  dont  matter.  You  can  choose 
your  own  altar.  Sacrifice  to  Jupiter:  he  likes  animals: 
he  turns  himself  into  an  animal  when  he  goes  off  duty. 

Androcles.  No:  its  very  kind  of  you;  but  I  feel  I 
cant  save  myself  that  way. 

The  Editor.  But  I  dont  ask  you  to  do  it  to  save  your- 
self: I  ask  you  to  do  it  to  oblige  me  personally. 

Androcles  (scrambling  up  in  the  greatest  agitation) 
Oh,  please  dont  say  that.  That  is  dreadful.  You  mean 
so  kindly  by  me  that  it  seems  quite  horrible  to  disoblige 
you.  If  you  could  arrange  for  me  to  sacrifice  when 
theres  nobody  looking,  I  shouldnt  mind.  But  I  must  go 
into  the  arena  with  the  rest.     My  honor,  you  know. 

The  Editor.     Honor !     The  honor  of  a  tailor  ? 

Androcles  (apologetically)  Well,  perhaps  honor  is 
too  strong  an  expression.  Still,  you  know,  I  couldnt  al- 
low the  tailors  to  get  a  bad  name  through  me. 

The  Editor.  How  much  will  you  remember  of  all 
that  when  you  smell  the  beast's  breath  and  see  his  jaws 
opening  to  tear  out  your  throat? 

Spintho  (rising  with  a  yell  of  terror)  I  cant  bear  it. 
Wheres  the  altar?     I'll  sacrifice. 

Ferrovius.     Dog  of  an  apostate.     Iscariot ! 

Spintho.  I'll  repent  afterwards.  I  fully  mean  to  die 
in  the  arena:  I'll  die  a  martyr  and  go  to  heaven;  but  not 
this  time,  not  now,  not  until  my  nerves  are  better.  Be- 
sides, I'm  too  young:  I  want  to  have  just  one  more  good 
time.      (The  gladiators  laugh  at  him).  Oh,  will  no  one 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  31 

tell  me  where  the  altar  is  ?     (7/e  dashes  into  the  passage 
and  vanishes). 

Androcles  (_to  the  Editor,  pointing  after  Spintho) 
Brother:  I  cant  do  that^  not  even  to  oblige  you.  Dont 
ask  me. 

The  Editor.  Well,  if  youre  determined  to  die,  I  cant 
help  you.     But  I  wouldnt  be  put  off  by  a  swine  like  that. 

Ferrovius.  Peace,  peace:  tempt  him  not.  Get  thee 
behind  him,  Satan. 

The  Editor  (flnshing  with  rage)  For  two  pins  Id 
take  a  turn  in  the  arena  myself  to-day,  and  pay  you  out 
for  daring  to  talk  to  me  like  that. 

Ferrovius  springs  forward. 

Lavinia  (rising  quickly  and  interposing)  Brother, 
brother:  you  forget. 

Ferrovius  (curbing  himself  by  a  mighty  effort)  Oh, 
my  temper,  my  wicked  temper!  (To  the  Editor,  as  La- 
vinia sits  down  again,  reassured),  p'orgive  me,  brother. 
My  heart  was  full  of  wrath:  I  should  have  been  thinking 
of  your  dear  precious  soul. 

The  Editor.  Yah!  (He  turns  his  back  on  Ferrovius 
contemptuously,  and  goes  back  to  his  seat). 

Ferrovius  (continuing)  And  I  forgot  it  all:  I 
thought  of  nothing  but  offering  to  fight  you  with  one 
hand  tied  behind  me. 

The  Editor  (turning  pugnaciously)    What! 

Ferrovius  (on  the  border  line  between  zeal  and  feroc- 
ity) Oh,  dont  give  way  to  pride  and  wrath,  brother. 
I  could  do  it  so  easily.     I  could — 

They  are  separated  by  the  Menagerie  Keeper,  who 
rushes  in  from  the  passage,  furious. 

The  Keeper.  Heres  a  nice  business !  Who  let  that 
Christian  out  of  here  down  to  the  dens  when  we  were 
changing  the  lion  into  the  cage  next  the  arena  .^ 

The  Editor.     Nobody  let  him.     He  let  himself. 

The  Keeper.    Well,  the  lion's  ate  him. 


32  Androcles  r-nd  the  Lion      Act  II 

Consternation.  The  Christians  rise,  greatly  agitated. 
The  gladiators  sit  callously,  hut  are  highly  amused.  All 
speak  or  cry  out  or  laugh  at  once.     Tumult. 

Lavinia.  Oh,  poor  wretch!  Ferrovius.  The  apos- 
tate has  perished.  Praise  be  to  God's  justice!  An- 
drocles. The  poor  beast  was  straving.  It  eouldnt  help 
itself.  The  Christians.  What !  Ate  him !  How 
frightful !  How  terrible  !  Without  a  moment  to  repent ! 
God  be  merciful  to  him,  a  sinner !  Oh,  I  cant  bear  to 
think  of  it !  In  the  midst  of  his  sin  !  Horrible,  horrible ! 
The  Editor.  Serve  the  rotter  right !  The  Gladiators. 
Just  walked  into  it,  he  did.  Hes  martyred  all  right 
enough.  Good  old  lion !  Old  Jock  doesnt  like  that : 
look  at  his  face.  Devil  a  better !  The  Emperor  will 
laugh  when  he  hears  of  it.  I  cant  help  smiling.  Ha 
ha  ha !  !  !  !  ! 

The  Keeper.  Now  bis  appetite's  taken  off,  he  wont 
as  much  as  look  at  another  Christian  for  a  week. 

Androcles.     Couldnt  you  have  saved  him  brother? 

The  Keeper.  Saved  him !  Saved  him  from  a  lion 
that  Id  just  got  mad  with  hunger!  a  wild  one  that  came 
out  of  the  forest  not  four  weeks  ago !  He  bolted  him 
before  you  could  say  Balbus. 

Lavinia  {sitting  down  again)  Poor  Spintho !  And  it 
wont  even  count  as  martyrdom ! 

The  Keeper.  Serve  him  right!  What  call  had  he 
to  walk  down  the  throat  of  one  of  my  lions  before  he 
was  asked? 

Androcles.     Perhaps  the  lion  wont  eat  me  now. 

The  Keeper.  Yes:  thats  just  like  a  Christian:  think 
only  of  yourself !  What  am  /to  do  ?  What  am  I  to  say 
to  the  Emperor  when  he  sees  one  of  my  lions  coming  into 
the  arena  half  asleep  ? 

The  Editor.  Say  nothing.  Give  your  old  lion  some 
bitters  and  a  morsel  of  fried  fish  to  wake  up  his  appetite. 
(Laughter). 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  33 

The  Keeper.     Yes:  it's  easy  for  you  to  talk;  but — 

The  Editor  (scrambling  to  his  feet)  Sh !  Attention 
there!  The  Emperor.  (The  Keeper  bolts  precipitately 
into  the  passage.  The  gladiators  rise  smartly  and  form 
into  line). 

The  Emperor  enters  on  the  Christians'  side,  conversing 
with  Metellus,  and  followed  by  his  suite. 

The  Gladiators.  Hail,  Caesar!  those  about  to  die 
salute  thee. 

Caesar.     Good  morrow,  friends. 

Metellus  shakes  hands  with  the  Editor,  who  accepts 
his  condescension  with  bluff  respect. 

Lavinia.     Blessing,  Caesar,  and  forgiveness ! 

Caesar  (turning  in  some  surprise  at  the  salutation') 
There  is  no  forgiveness  for  Christianity. 

Lavinia.  I  did  not  mean  that,  Caesar.  I  mean  that 
w  e  forgive  you. 

Metellus.  An  inconceivable  liberty !  Do  you  not 
know,  woman,  that  the  Emperor  can  do  no  wrong  and 
therefore  cannot  be  forgiven? 

Lavinia.  I  expect  the  Emperor  knows  better.  Any- 
liow,  we  forgive  him. 

The  Christians.     Amen ! 

Caesar.  Metellus:  you  see  now  the  disadvantage  of 
too  much  severity.  These  people  have  no  hope;  there- 
fore they  have  notliing  to  restrain  them  from  saying  what 
they  like  to  me.  They  are  almost  as  impertinent  as  the 
gladiators.     Which  is  the  Greek  sorcerer? 

Androcles  (humbly  touching  his  forelock)  Me,  your 
Worship. 

Caesar.  My  Worship !  Good !  A  new  title.  Well, 
what  miracles  can  you  perform? 

Androcles.  I  can  cure  warts  by  rubbing  them  with 
my  tailor's  chalk;  and  I  can  live  with  my  wife  without 
beating  her. 

Caesar.  Is  that  all? 
11 


34  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

Androcles.  You  dont  know  her,  Caesar,  or  you 
wouldnt  say  that. 

Caesar.  Ah,  well,  my  friend,  we  shall  no  doubt  con- 
trive a  happy  release  for  you.    Which  is  Ferrovius.'' 

Ferrovius.     I  am  he. 

Caesar.  They  tell  me  you  can  fight. 

Ferrovius.     It  is  easy  to  fight.     I  can  die,  Caesar. 

Caesar.  That  is  still  easier,  is  it  not.'' 

Ferrovius.  Not  to  me,  Caesar.  Death  comes  hard  to 
my  flesh;  and  fighting  comes  very  easily  to  my  spirit 
(beating  his  breast  and  lamenting)  O  sinner  that  I 
am !  (He  throws  himself  down  on  the  steps,  deeply 
discouraged). 

Caesar.  Metellus:  I  should  like  to  have  this  man  in 
the  Pretorian  Guard. 

Metellus.  /  should  not,  Caesar.  He  looks  a  spoil- 
sport. There  are  men  in  whose  presence  it  is  impossible 
to  have  any  fun:  men  who  are  a  sort  of  walking  con- 
science.    He  would  make  us  all  uncomfortable. 

Caesar.  For  that  reason,  perhaps,  it  might  be  well  to 
have  him.  An  Emperor  can  hardly  have  too  many  con- 
sciences. (To  Ferrovius)  Listen,  Ferrovius.  (JFer- 
rovius  shakes  his  head  and  ivill  not  look  up).  You  and 
your  friends  shall  not  be  outnumbered  to-day  in  the  arena. 
You  shall  have  arms ;  and  there  will  be  no  more  than  one 
gladiator  to  each  Christian.  If  you  come  out  of  the  arena 
alive,  I  will  consider  favorably  any  request  of  yours,  and 
give  you  a  place  in  the  Pretorian  Guard.  Even  if  the 
request  be  that  no  questions  be  asked  about  your  faith  I 
shall  perhaps  not  refuse  it. 

Ferrovius.  I  will  not  fight.  I  will  die.  Better  stand 
with  the  archangels  than  with  the  Pretorian  Guard. 

Caesar.  I  cannot  believe  that  the  archangels — ^who- 
ever they  may  be — would  not  prefer  to  be  recruited  from 
the  Pretorian  Guard.  However,  as  you  please.  Come: 
let  us  see  the  show. 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  35 

As  the  Court  ascends  the  steps,  Secutor  and  Retiarius 
return  from  the  arena  through  the  passage:  Secutor  cov- 
ered with  dust  and  very  angry:  Retiarius  grinning. 

Secutor.  Ha,  the  Emperor.  Now  we  shall  see. 
Caesar:  I  ask  you  whether  it  is  fair  for  the  Retiarius, 
instead  of  making  a  fair  throw  of  his  net  at  me,  to  swish 
it  along  the  ground  and  throw  the  dust  in  my  eyes,  and 
then  catch  me  when  I'm  blinded.  If  the  vestals  had  not 
turned  up  their  thumbs  I  should  have  been  a  dead  man. 

Caesar  {halting  on  the  stair)  There  is  nothing  in  the 
rules  against  it. 

Secutor  (^indignantly)  Caesar:  is  it  a  dirty  trick  or 
is  it  not? 

Caesar.  It  is  a  dusty  one,  my  friend.  {Obsequious 
laughter) .   Be  on  your  guard  next  time. 

Secutor.  Let  h  i  m  be  on  his  guard.  Next  time  I'll 
throw  my  sword  at  his  heels  and  strangle  him  with  his 
own  net  before  he  can  hop  off.  {To  the  Retiarius)  You 
see  if  I  dont.  {He  goes  out  past  the  gladiators,  sulky 
and  furious). 

Caesar  {to  the  chuckling  Retiarius).  These  tricks  are 
not  wise,  my  friend.  The  audience  likes  to  see  a  dead 
man  in  all  his  beauty  and  splendor.  If  you  smudge  his 
face  and  spoil  his  armor  they  will  shew  their  displeasure 
by  not  letting  you  kill  him.  And  when  your  turn  comes, 
they  will  remember  it  against  you  and  turn  their  thumbs 
down. 

The  Retiarius.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  did  it,  Caesar. 
He  bet  me  ten  sesterces  that  he  would  vanquish  me.  If 
I  had  had  to  kill  him  I  should  not  have  had  the  money. 

Caesar  {indulgent,  laughing)  You  rogues:  there  is 
no  end  to  your  tricks.  I'll  dismiss  you  all  and  have  ele- 
phants to  fight.  They  fight  fairly.  {He  goes  up  to 
his  box,  and  knocks  at  it.  It  is  opened  from  within  by 
the  Captain,  who  stands  as  on  parade  to  let  him  pass). 

The  Call  Boy  comes  from  the  passage,  followed  by 


36  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

three  attendants  carrying  respectively  a  bundle  of  swords, 
some  helmets,  and  some  breastplates  and  pieces  of  armor 
which  they  throrv  down  in  a  heap. 

The  Call  Boy.  By  your  leave,  Caesar.  Number 
eleven  !     Gladiators  and  Christians  ! 

Ferrovius  springs  up,  ready  for  martyrdom.  The  other 
Christians  take  the  summons  as  best  they  can,  some  joy- 
ful and  brave,  some  patient  and  dignified,  some  tearful 
and  helpless,  some  embracing  one  another  with  emotion. 
The  Call  Boy  goes  bach  into  the  passage. 

Caesar  {turning  at  the  door  of  the  box)  The  hour  has 
come,  Ferrovius.  I  shall  go  into  my  box  and  see  you 
killed,  since  you  scorn  the  Pretorian  Guard.  {He  goes 
into  the  box.  The  Captain  shuts  the  door,  remaining  in- 
side with  the  Emperor.  Metellus  and  the  rest  of  the  suite 
disperse  to  their  seats.  The  Christians,  led  by  Ferrovius, 
move  towards  the  passage). 

Lavinia  {to  Ferrovius)    Farewell. 

The  Editor.  Steady  there.  You  Christians  have  got 
to  fight.     Here !  arm  yourselves. 

Ferrovius  {picking  up  a  sword)  I'll  die  sword  in 
hand  to  shew  people  that  I  could  fight  if  it  were  ray 
Master's  will,  and  that  I  could  kill  the  man  who  kills 
me  if  I  chose. 

The  Editor.     Put  on  that  armor. 

Ferrovius.     No  armor. 

The  Editor  {bidlying  him)  Do  what  youre  told. 
Put  on  that  armor. 

Ferrovius  {gripping  the  sword  and  looking  danger- 
ous)   I  said.  No  armor. 

The  Editor.  And  what  am  I  to  say  when  I  am 
accused  of  sending  a  naked  man  in  to  fight  my  men  in 
armor  } 

Ferrovius.  Say  your  prayers,  brother;  and  have  no 
fear  of  the  princes  of  this  world. 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  37 

The  Editor.  Tslia!  You  obstinate  fool!  {He  bites 
his  lips  irresolutely,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to  do). 

Androcles  {to  Ferrovius)  Farewell,  brother,  till  we 
meet  in  the  sweet  by-and-by. 

The  Editor  {to  Androcles)  You  are  going  too. 
Take  a  sword  there;  and  put  on  any  armor  you  can  find 
to  fit  you. 

Androcles.  No,  really:  I  cant  fight:  I  never  could: 
I  cant  bring  myself  to  dislike  anyone  enough.  I'm  to 
be  thrown  to  the  lions  with  the  lady. 

The  Editor.  Then  get  out  of  the  way  and  hold  your 
noise.  {Androcles  steps  aside  with  cheerful  docility). 
Now  then  !     Are  you  all  ready  there  ? 

A  trumpet  is  heard  from  the  arena. 

Ferrovius  {starting  convidsively)  Heaven  give  me 
strength ! 

The  Editor.     Aha!     That  frightens  you,  does  it.? 

Ferrovius.  Man :  there  is  no  terror  like  the  terror  of 
that  sound  to  me.  When  I  hear  a  trumpet  or  a  drum 
or  the  clash  of  steel  or  the  hum  of  the  catapult  as  the 
great  stone  flics,  fire  runs  through  my  veins:  I  feel  my 
blood  surge  up  hot  behind  my  eyes:  I  must  charge:  I 
must  strike:  I  must  conquer:  Caesar  himself  will  not  be 
safe  in  his  imperial  seat  if  once  that  spirit  gets  loose  in 
me.  Oh,  brothers,  pray !  exhort  me !  remind  me  that  if  I 
raise  my  sword  my  honor  falls  and  my  Master  is  cruci- 
fied afresh. 

Androcles.  Just  keep  thinking  how  cruelly  you  might 
hurt  the  poor  gladiators. 

Ferrovius.     It  does  not  hurt  a  man  to  kill  him. 

Lavinia.     Nothing  but  faith  can  save  you. 

Ferrovius.  Faith !  Which  faith  ?  There  are  two 
faiths.  There  is  our  faith.  And  there  is  the  warrior's 
faith,  the  faith  in  fighting,  the  faith  that  sees  God 
in    the    sword.      How    if    that    faith    should    overwhelm 

Trip  ? 


38  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

Lavinia.  You  will  find  your  real  faith  in  the  hour  of 
trial. 

Ferrovius.  That  is  what  I  fear.  I  know  that  I  am  a 
fighter.     How  can  I  feel  sure  that  I  am  a  Christian? 

Androcles.     Throw  away  the  sword,  brother. 

Ferrovius.  I  cannot.  It  cleaves  to  my  hand.  I  could 
as  easily  throw  a  woman  I  loved  from  my  arms.  (Start- 
ing)    Who  spoke  that  blasphemy.''     Not  I. 

Lavinia.  I  cant  help  you,  friend.  I  cant  tell  you 
not  to  save  your  own  life.  Something  wilful  in  me  wants 
to  see  you  fight  your  way  into  heaven. 

Ferrovius.     Ha ! 

Androcles.  But  if  you  are  going  to  give  up  our  faith, 
brother,  why  not  do  it  without  hurting  anybody.''  Dent 
fight  them.     Burn  the  incense. 

Ferrovius.    Burn  the  incense !    Never. 

Lavinia.     That  is  only  pride,  Ferrovius. 

Ferrovius.  Only  pride  !  What  is  nobler  than  pride.'' 
(Conscience  stricken)  Oh,  I'm  steeped  in  sin.  I'm  proud 
of  my  pride. 

Lavinia.  They  say  we  Christians  are  the  proudest 
devils  on  earth — that  only  the  weak  are  meek.  Oh,  I  am 
worse  than  you.  I  ought  to  send  you  to  death;  and  I 
am  tempting  you. 

Androcles.  Brother,  brother:  let  them  rage  and 
kill :  let  u  s  be  brave  and  suffer.  You  must  go  as  a 
lamb  to  the  slaughter. 

Ferrovius.  Aye,  aye:  that  is  right.  Not  as  a  lamb 
is  slain  by  the  butcher;  but  as  a  butcher  might  let  him- 
self be  slain  by  a  (looking  at  the  Editor)  by  a  silly  ram 
whose  head  he  could  fetch  off  in  one  twist. 

Before  the  Editor  can  retort,  the  Call  Boy  rushes  up 
through  the  passage;  and  the  Captain  comes  from  the 
Emperor's  box  and  descends  the  steps. 

The  Call  Boy.  In  with  you :  into  the  arena.  The 
stage  is  waiting. 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  39 

The  Captain.  The  Emperor  is  waiting.  {To  the 
Editor)  What  are  you  dreaming  of,  man?  Send  your 
men  in  at  once. 

The  Editor.  Yes,  sir:  it's  these  Christians  hanging 
back. 

Ferrovius  {in  a  voice  of  thunder)    Liar ! 

The  Editor  {not  heeding  him)  March.  {The  gladi- 
ators told  off  to  fight  with  the  Christians  march  down  the 
passage)    Follow  up  there,  you. 

The  Christian  Men  and  Women  {as  they  part) 
Be  steadfast,  brother.  Farewell.  Hold  up  the  faith, 
brother.  Farewell.  Go  to  glory,  dearest.  Farewell. 
Remember:  we  are  praying  for  you.  P'arewell.  Be 
strong,  brother.  Farewell.  Dont  forget  that  the  divine 
love  and  our  love  surround  you.  Farewell.  Nothing  can 
hurt  you :  remember  that,  brother.  Farewell.  Eternal 
glory,  dearest.     Farewell. 

The  Editor  {out  of  patience)    Shove  them  in,  there. 

The  remaining  gladiators  and  the  Call  Boy  make  a 
movement  towards  them. 

Ferrovius  {interposing)  Touch  them,  dogs;  and  we 
die  here,  and  cheat  the  heathen  of  their  spectacle.  {To 
his  fellow  Christians)  Brothers:  the  great  moment  has 
come.  That  passage  is  your  hill  to  Calvary.  Mount  it 
bravely,  but  meekly ;  and  remember !  not  a  word  of  re- 
proach, not  a  blow  nor  a  struggle.  Go.  {They  go  out 
through  the  passage.     He  turns  to  Lavinia)     Farewell. 

Lavinia.  You  forget:  I  must  follow  before  you  are 
cold. 

Ferrovius.  It  is  true.  Do  not  envy  me  because  I  pass 
before  you  to  glory.    {He  goes  through  the  passage). 

The  Editor  {to  the  Call  Boy)  Sickening  work,  this. 
Why  cant  they  all  be  thrown  to  the  lions  ?  It's  not  a 
man's  job.     {He  throws  himself  moodily  into  his  chair). 

The  remaining  gladiators  go  hack  to  their  former  places 
indifferently.     The  Call  Boy  shrugs  his  shoulders  and 


40  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

squats  down  at  the  entrance  to  the  passage,  near  the 
Editor. 

Lavinia  and  the  Christian  women  sit  down  again, 
wrung  with  grief,  some  weeping  silently,  some  praying, 
some  calm  and  steadfast.  Androcles  sits  down  at  La- 
vinia's  feet.  The  Captain  stands  on  the  stairs,  watching 
her  curiously. 

Androcles.  I'm  glad  I  havnt  to  fight.  That  would 
really  be  an  awful  martyrdom.     lam  lucky. 

Lavinia  {looking  at  him  ivith  a  pang  of  remorse^. 
Androcles:  burn  the  incense:  youll  be  forgiven.  Let  my 
death  atone  for  both.     I  feel  as  if  I  were  killing  you. 

Androcles.  Dont  think  of  me,  sister.  Think  of  your- 
self.    That  will  keep  your  heart  up. 

The  Captain  laughs  sardonically. 

Lavinia  {startled:  she  had  forgotten  his  presence^ 
Are  you  there,  handsome  Captain?  Have  you  come  to 
see  me  die.^ 

The  Captain  (coming  to  her  side)  I  am  on  duty  with 
the  Emperor,  Lavinia. 

Lavinia.     Is  it  part  of  your  duty  to  laugh  at  us? 

The  Captain.  No:  that  is  part  of  my  private  pleas- 
ure. Your  friend  here  is  a  humorist.  I  laughed  at  his 
telling  you  to  think  of  yourself  to  keep  up  your  heart. 
/  say,  think  of  yourself  and  burn  the  incense. 

Lavinia.  He  is  not  a  humorist:  he  was  right.  You 
ought  to  knoAV  that.  Captain:  you  have  been  face  to  face 
with  death. 

The  Captain.  Not  with  certain  death,  Lavinia.  Only 
death  in  battle,  which  spares  more  men  than  death  in  bed. 
What  you  are  facing  is  certain  death.  You  have  nothing 
left  now  but  your  faith  in  this  craze  of  yours :  this  Chris- 
tianity. Are  your  Christian  fairy  stories  any  truer  than 
our  stories  about  Jupiter  and  Diana,  in  which,  I  may  tell 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  41 

you^  I  believe  no  more  than  the  Emperor  does,  or  any 
educated  man  in  Rome? 

Lavinia.  Captain :  all  that  seems  nothing  to  me  now. 
I'll  not  say  that  death  is  a  terrible  thing;  but  I  will  say 
that  it  is  so  real  a  thing  that  when  it  comes  close,  all  the 
imaginary  things — all  the  stories,  as  you  call  them — fade 
into  mere  dreams  beside  that  inexorable  reality.  I  know 
now  that  I  am  not  dying  for  stories  or  dreams.  Did  you 
hear  of  the  dreadful  thing  that  happened  here  while  we 
were  waiting? 

The  Captain.  I  heard  that  one  of  your  fellows  bolted, 
and  ran  right  into  the  jaws  of  the  lion.  I  laughed.  I 
still  laugh. 

Lavinia.    Then  you  dont  understand  what  that  meant? 

The  Captain.  It  meant  that  the  lion  had  a  cur  for  his 
breakfast. 

Lavinia.  It  meant  more  than  that,  Captain.  It  meant 
that  a  man  cannot  die  for  a  story  and  a  dream.  None  of 
us  believed  the  stories  and  the  dreams  more  devoutly 
than  poor  Spintho ;  but  he  could  not  face  the  great  reality. 
What  he  would  have  called  my  faith  has  been  oozing 
away  minute  by  minute  whilst  Ive  been  sitting  here,  with 
death  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  with  reality  becoming 
realler  and  realler,  with  stories  and  dreams  fading  away 
into  nothing. 

The  Captain.     Are  you  then  going  to  die  for  nothing? 

Lavinia.  Yes :  that  is  the  wonderful  thing.  It  is  since 
all  the  stories  and  dreams  have  gone  that  I  have  now  no 
doubt  at  all  that  I  must  die  for  something  greater  than 
dreams  or  stories. 

The  Captain.     But  for  what? 

Lavinia.  I  dont  know.  If  it  were  for  anything  small 
enough  to  know,  it  would  be  too  small  to  die  for.  I  think 
I'm  going  to  die  for  God.  Nothing  else  is  real  enough 
to  die  for. 


42  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

The  Captain.    What  is  God? 

Lavinia.  When  we  know  that,  Captain,  we  shall  be 
gods  ourselves. 

The  Captain.  Lavinia;  come  down  to  earth.  Burn 
the  incense  and  marry  me. 

Lavinia.  Handsome  Captain:  would  you  marry  me  if 
I  hauled  down  the  flag  in  the  day  of  battle  and  burnt  the 
incense.''  Sons  take  after  their  mothers,  you  know.  Do 
you  want  your  son  to  be  a  coward.'' 

The  Captain  (strongly  moved).  By  great  Diana,  I 
think  I  would  strangle  you  if  you  gave  in  now. 

Lavinia  (putting  her  hand  on  the  head  of  Androcles) 
The  hand  of  God  is  on  us  three,  Captain. 

The  Captain.  What  nonsense  it  all  is !  And  what  a 
monstrous  thing  that  you  should  die  for  such  nonsense, 
and  that  I  should  look  on  helplessly  when  my  whole  soul 
cries  out  against  it!  Die  then  if  you  must;  but  at  least 
I  can  cut  the  Emperor's  throat  and  then  my  own  when 
I  see  your  blood. 

The  Emperor  throrvs  open  the  door  of  his  box  angrily, 
and  appears  in  rvrath  on  the  threshold.  The  Editor,  the 
Call  Boy,  and  the  gladiators  spring  to  their  feet. 

The  Emperor.  The  Christians  will  not  fight;  and 
your  curs  cannot  get  their  blood  up  to  attack  them.  It's 
all  that  fellow  with  the  blazing  eyes.  Send  for  the  whip. 
(The  Call  Boy  rushes  out  on  the  east  side  for  the  whip). 
If  that  will  not  move  them,  bring  the  hot  irons,  "rhe 
man  is  like  a  mountain.  (He  returns  angrily  into  the 
box  and  slams  the  door). 

The  Call  Boy  returns  rvith  a  man  in  a  hideous  Etruscan 
mask,  carrying  a  whip.  They  both  rush  dorvn  the  passage 
into  the  arena. 

Lavinia  (rising)  Oh,  that  is  unworthy.  Can  they  not 
kill  him  without  dishonoring  him? 

Androcles   (scrambling  to  his  feet  and  running  into 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  43 

the  middle  of  the  space  betTveen  the  staircases)  It's 
dreadful.  Now  I  want  to  fight.  I  cant  bear  the  sight  of 
a  whip.  The  only  time  I  ever  hit  a  man  was  when  he 
lashed  an  old  horse  with  a  whip.  It  was  terrible:  I 
danced  on  his  face  when  he  was  on  the  ground.  He  mustnt 
strike  Ferrovius:  I'll  go  into  the  arena  and  kill  him  first. 
(He  makes  a  wild  dash  into  the  passage.  As  he  does  so 
a  great  clamor  is  heard  from  the  arena,  ending  in  wild 
applause.  The  gladiators  listen  and  look  inquiringly  at 
one  another). 

The  Editor.    Whats  up  now.'' 

Lavinia  (to  the  Captain)  What  has  happened,  do  you 
think? 

The  Captain.  What  can  happen  ?  They  are  killing 
them,  I  sujjpose. 

Androcles  (running  in  through  the  passage,  scream- 
ing with  horror  mid  hiding  his  eyes)  ! ! ! 

Lavinia.     Androcles,  Androcles:  whats  the  matter? 
^NDROCLES.   Oh,  dont  ask  me,  dont  ask  me.      Some- 
thing too  dreadful.     Oh !     (He  crouches  by  her  and  hides 
his  face  in  her  robe,  sobbing). 

The  Call  Boy  (rushing  through  from  the  passage  as 
before)     Ropes  and  hooks  there !    Ropes  and  hooks. 

The  Editor,  Well,  need  you  excite  yourself  about 
it?     (Another  burst  of  applause). 

Two  slaves  in  Etruscan  masks,  with  ropes  and  drag 
hooks,  hurry  in. 

One  of  the  Slaves.     How  many  dead? 

The  Call  Boy.  Six.  (The  slave  blows  a  whistle 
twice;  and  four  more  masked  slaves  rush  through  into 
the  arena  with  the  same  apparatus)  And  the  basket. 
Bring  the  baskets.  (The  slave  7vhistles  three  times,  and 
runs  through  the  passage  with  his  coinpanion). 

The  Captain.     Who  are  the  baskets  for? 

The    Call    Boy.      For   the    whip.      He's    in   pieces. 


44  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

Theyre  all  in  pieces,  more  or  less.  (Lavinia  hides  her 
face). 

Two  more  masked  slaves  come  in  with  a  basket  and 
follow  the  others  into  the  arena,  as  the  Call  Boy  turns 
to  the  gladiators  and  exclaims,  exhausted)  Boys,  he's 
killed  the  lot. 

The  Emperor  (again  bursting  from  his  box,  this  time 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight)  Where  is  he?  Magnificent! 
He  shall  have  a  laurel  crown. 

Ferrovius,  madly  waving  his  bloodstained  sword, 
rushes  through  the  passage  in  despair,  followed  by  his  co- 
religionists, and  by  the  menagerie  keeper,  who  goes  to 
the  gladiators.  The  gladiators  draw  their  swords  ner- 
vously. 

Ferrovius.  Lost!  lost  forever!  I  have  betrayed  my 
Master.  Cut  oiT  this  right  hand:  it  has  offended.  Ye 
have  swords,  my  brethren :  strike. 

Lavinia.     No,  no.    What  have  you  done,  Ferrovius.'' 

Ferrovius.  I  know  not;  but  there  was  blood  behind 
my  eyes;  and  theres  blood  on  my  sword.  What  does 
that  mean? 

The  Emperor  (enthusiastically,  on  the  landing  outside 
his  box)  What  does  it  mean?  It  means  that  you  are 
the  greatest  man  in  Rome.  It  means  that  you  shall  have 
a  laurel  crown  of  gold.  Superb  fighter,  I  could  almost 
yield  you  my  throne.  It  is  a  record  for  my  reign :  I  shall 
live  in  history.  Once,  in  Domitian's  time,  a  Gaul  slew 
three  men  in  the  arena  and  gained  his  freedom.  But 
when  before  has  one  naked  man  slain  six  armed  men  of 
the  bravest  and  best?  The  persecution  shall  cease:  if 
Christians  can  fight  like  this,  I  shall  have  none  but  Chris- 
tians to  fight  for  me.  {To  the  Gladiators)  You  are 
ordered  to  become  Christians,  you  there :  do  you  hear  ? 

Eetiarius.  It  is  all  one  to  us,  Caesar.  Had  I  been 
there  with  my  net,  the  story  would  have  been  different. 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  45 

The  Captain  (^suddenly  seizing  Lavinia  by  the  wrist 
and  dragging  her  up  the  steps  to  the  Emperor)  Caesar: 
this  woman  is  the  sister  of  Ferrovius.  If  she  is  thrown 
to  the  lions  he  will  fret.  He  will  lose  weight;  get  out 
of  condition — 

The  Emperor.  The  lions?  Nonsense!  (To  Lavinia) 
Madam:  I  am  proud  to  have  the  honor  of  making  your 
acquaintance.     Your  brother  is  the  glory  of  Rome. 

Lavinia.     But  my  friends  here.     Must  they  die? 

The  Emperor.  Die  !  Certainly  not.  There  has  never 
been  the  slightest  idea  of  harming  them.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen:  you  are  all  free.  Pray  go  into  the  front  of 
the  house  and  enjoy  the  spectacle  to  which  your  brother 
has  so  splendidly  contributed.  Captain:  oblige  me  by 
conducting  them  to  the  seats  reserved  for  my  personal 
friends. 

The  Menagerie  Keeper.  Caesar:  I  must  have  one 
Christian  for  the  lion.  The  people  have  been  promised 
it;  and  they  will  tear  the  decorations  to  bits  if  they  are 
disappointed. 

The  Emperor.  True,  true:  we  must  have  somebody 
for  the  new  lion. 

Ferrovius.    Throw  me  to  him.    Let  the  apostate  perish. 

The  Emperor.  No,  no :  you  would  tear  him  in  pieces, 
my  friend ;  and  we  cannot  afford  to  throw  away  lions  as 
if  they  were  mere  slaves.  But  we  must  have  somebody. 
This  is  really  extremely  awkward. 

The  Menagerie  Keeper.  Why  not  that  little  Greek 
chap?     Hes  not  a  Christian:  hes  a  sorcerer. 

The  Emperor.     The  very  thing:  he  will  do  very  well. 

The  Call  Boy  (issuing  from  the  passage)  Number 
twelve.    The  Christian  for  the  new  lion. 

Androcles  (rising,  and  pulling  himself  sadly  to- 
gether)   Well,  it  was  to  be,  after  all. 

Lavinia.     I'll  go  in  his  place,  Caesar.    Ask  the  Cap- 


46  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

tain  whether  they  do  not  like  best  to  see  a  woman  torn  to 
pieces.     He  told  me  so  yesterday. 

The  Emperor.  There  is  something  in  that:  there  is 
certainly  something  in  that — if  only  I  could  feel  sure  that 
your  brother  would  not  fret. 

Androcles.  No:  I  should  never  have  another  happy 
hour.  No :  on  the  faith  of  a  Christian  and  the  honor  of  a 
tailor,  I  accept  the  lot  that  has  fallen  on  me.  If  my  wife 
turns  up,  give  her  my  love  and  say  that  my  wish  was 
that  she  should  be  happy  with  her  next,  poor  fellow! 
Caesar :  go  to  your  box  and  see  how  a  tailor  can  die.  Make 
way  for  number  twelve  there.  {He  marches  out  along 
the  passage). 

The  vast  audience  in  the  amphitheatre  now  sees  the 
Emperor  re-enter  his  box  and  take  his  place  as  Androcles, 
desperately  frightened,  but  still  marching  with  piteous 
devotion,  emerges  from  the  other  end  of  the  passage,  and 
-finds  himself  at  the  focus  of  thousands  of  eager  eyes.  The 
lion's  cage,  with  a  heavy  portcullis  grating,  is  on  his  left. 
The  Emperor  gives  a  signal.  A  gong  sounds.  Androcles 
shivers  at  the  sound;  then  falls  on  his  knees  and  prays. 
The  grating  rises  with  a  clash.  The  lion  bounds  into  the 
arena.  He  rushes  round  frisking  in  his  freedom.  He 
sees  Androcles.  He  stops;  rises  stiffly  by  straightening 
his  legs;  stretches  out  his  nose  forward  and  his  tail  in  a 
horizontal  line  behind,  like  a  pointer,  and  utters  an  ap- 
palling roar.  Androcles  crouches  and  hides  his  face  in 
his  hands.  The  lion  gathers  himself  for  a  spring,  swish- 
ing his  tail  to  and  fro  through  the  dust  in  an  ecstasy  of 
anticipation.  Androcles  throws  up  his  hands  in  suppli- 
cation to  heaven.  The  lion  checks  at  the  sight  of  Andro- 
cles's  face.  He  then  steals  towards  him;  smells  him; 
arches  his  back;  purrs  like  a  motor  car;  finally  rubs 
himself  against  Androcles,  knocking  him  over.  Androcles , 
supporting  himself  on  his  wrist,  looks  affrightedly  at  the 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  47 

lion.  The  lion  limps  on  three  paws,  holding  up  the  other 
as  if  it  was  wounded.  A  flash  of  recognition  lights  up 
the  face  of  Androcles.  He  flaps  his  hand  as  if  it  had  a 
thorn  in  it,  and  pretends  to  pull  the  thorn  out  and  to 
hurt  himself.  The  lion  nods  repeatedly.  Androcles  holds 
out  his  hands  to  t]ie  lion,  who  gives  him  both  paws,  which 
he  shalces  with  enthusiasm.  They  embrace  rapturously, 
finally  waltz  round  the  arena  amid  a  sudden  burst  of 
deafening  applause,  and  out  through  the  passage,  the 
Emperor  watching  them  in  breathless  astonishment  until 
they  disappear,  when  he  rushes  from  his  box  and  descends 
the  steps  in  frantic  excitement. 

The  Emperor.  My  friends^  an  incredible!  an  amaz- 
ing thing !  has  happened.  I  can  no  longer  doubt  the 
truth  of  Christianity.  {The  Christians  press  to  him  joy- 
fully') This  Christian  sorcerer — {with  a  yell,  he  breaks 
off  as  he  sees  Androcles  and  the  lion  emerge  from  the 
passage,  waltzing.  He  bolts  wildly  up  the  steps  into  his 
box,  and  slams  the  door.  All,  Christians  and  gladiators 
alike,  fly  for  their  lives,  the  gladiators  bolting  into  the 
arena,  the  others  in  all  directions.  The  place  is  emptied 
tvith  magical  suddenness). 

Androcles  {naively)  Now  I  wonder  why  tliey  all 
run  away  from  us  like  that.  {The  lion  combining  a  series 
of  yawns,  jjurrs,  and  roars,  achieves  something  very  like 
a  laugh). 

The  Emperor  {standing  on  a  chair  inside  his  box  and 
looking  over  the  wall)  Sorcerer:  I  command  you  to  put 
that  lion  to  death  instantly.  It  is  guilty  of  high  treason. 
Your  conduct  is  most  disgra —  {the  lion  charges  at  him 
up  the  stairs)  help !  {He  disappears.  The  lion,  rears 
against  the  box;  looks  over  the  partition  at  him,  and  roars. 
The  Emperor  darts  out  through  the  door  and  down  to 
Androcles,  pursued  by  the  lion.) 

Androcles.    Dont  run  away,  sir:  he  cant  help  spring- 


48  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

ing  if  you  run.  {He  seizes  the  Emperor  and  gets  between 
him  and  the  lion,  who  stops  at  once).  Dont  be  afraid 
of  him. 

The  Emperor.  I  am  not  afraid  of  him.  (The  lion 
crouches,  growling.  The  Emperor  clutches  Androcles) 
Keep  between  us. 

Androcles.  Never  be  afraid  of  animals,  your  Wor- 
ship :  thats  the  great  secret.  He'll  be  as  gentle  as  a  lamb 
when  he  knows  that  you  are  his  friend.  Stand  quite  still; 
and  smile;  and  let  him  smell  you  all  over  just  to  reas- 
sure him ;  for,  you  see,  hes  afraid  of  you ;  and  he  must 
examine  you  thoroughly  before  he  gives  you  his  confi- 
dence. (To  the  lion)  Come  now.  Tommy;  and  speak 
nicely  to  the  Emperor,  the  great,  good  Emperor  who  has 
power  to  have  all  our  heads  cut  off  if  we  dont  behave 
very,  very  respectfully  to  him. 

The  lion  utters  a  fearful  roar.  The  Emperor  dashes 
madly  up  the  steps,  across  the  landing,  and  doivn  again 
on  the  other  side,  with  the  lion  in  hot  pursuit.  Androcles 
rushes  after  the  lion;  overtakes  him  as  he  is  descending; 
and  throws  himself  on  his  back,  trying  to  use  his  toes  as 
a  brake.  Before  he  can  stop  him  the  lion  gets  hold  of 
the  trailing  end  of  the  Emperor's  robe. 

Androcles.  Oh  bad  wicked  Tommy,  to  chase  the 
Emperor  like  that !  Let  go  the  Emperor's  robe  at  once, 
sir:  wheres  your  manners.^  (The  lion  growls  and  worries 
the  robe).  Dont  pull  it  away  from  him,  your  worship. 
Hes  only  playing.  Now  I  shall  be  really  angry  with 
you.  Tommy,  if  you  dont  let  go.  (The  lion  growls 
again)  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  sir:  he  thinks  you  and  I 
are  not  friends. 

The  Emperor  (trying  to  undo  the  clasp  of  his  brooch) 
Friends !  You  infernal  scoundrel  (the  lion  growls) — 
dont  let  him  go.     Curse  this  brooch !    I  cant  get  it  loose. 

Androcles.  We  mustnt  let  him  lash  himself  into  a 
rage.     You  must  shew  him  that  you  are  my  particular 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  49 

friend — if  you  will  have  the  condescension.  {He  seizes 
the  Emperor's  hands  and  shakes  them  cordially).  Look, 
Tommy:  the  nice  Emperor  is  the  dearest  friend  Andy 
Wandy  has  in  the  whole  world:  he  loves  him  like  a 
brother. 

The  Emperor.  You  little  brute,  you  damned  filthy 
little  dog  of  a  Greek  tailor:  I'll  have  you  burnt  alive  for 
daring  to  touch  the  divine  person  of  the  Emperor.  (The 
lion  growls). 

Androcles,  Oh  dont  talk  like  that,  sir.  He  under- 
stands every  word  you  say:  all  animals  do:  they  take  it 
from  the  tone  of  your  voice.  (  The  lion  growls  and  lashes 
his  tail).  I  think  hes  going  to  spring  at  your  worship. 
If  you  wouldnt  mind  saying  something  affectionate. 
(The  lion  roars). 

The  Emperor  (shaking  Androcles'  hands  frantic- 
ally) My  dearest  Mr,  Androcles,  my  sweetest  friend, 
my  long  lost  brother,  come  to  my  arms.  (He  embraces 
Androcles).    Oh,  what  an  abominable  smell  of  garlic! 

The  lion  lets  go  the  robe  and  rolls  over  on  his  back, 
clasping  his  forepaws  over  one  another  coquettishly  above 
his  nose. 

Androcles,  There!  You  see,  your  worship,  a  child 
might  play  with  him  now.  See !  (He  tickles  the  limi's 
belly.  The  lion  tvriggles  ecstatically).  Come  and  pet 
him. 

The  Emperor,  I  must  conquer  these  unkingly  terrors. 
Mind  you  dont  go  away  from  him,  though.  (He  pats 
the  lion's  chest). 

Androcles.  Oh,  sir,  how  few  men  would  hav^e  the 
courage  to  do  that! 

The  Emperor,  Yes:  it  takes  a  bit  of  nerve.  Let  us 
have  the  Court  in  and  frighten  them.  Is  he  safe,  do  you 
think? 

Androcles.     Quite  safe  now,  sir. 

The  Emperor  (majestically)  What  ho,  there!  All 
13 


50  Androcles  and  the  Lion      Act  II 

who  are  within  hearing,  return  without  fear.  Caesar  has 
tamed  the  lion.  (All  the  fugitives  steal  cautiously  in. 
The  menagerie  keeper  comes  from  the  passage  rvith 
other  keepers  armed  with  iron  bars  and  tridents^.  Take 
those  things  away.  I  have  subdued  the  beast.  (He  places 
his  foot  on  it). 

Ferrovius  (timidly  approaching  the  Emperor  and 
looking  down  with  awe  on  the  lion)  It  is  strange  that 
I,  who  fear  no  man,  should  fear  a  lion. 

The  Captain.    Every  man  fears  something,  Ferrovius. 

The  Emperor.     How  about  the  Pretorian  Guard  now? 

Ferrovius.  In  my  youth  I  worshipped  Mars,  the  God 
of  War.  I  turned  from  him  to  serve  the  Christian  god; 
but  today  the  Christian  god  forsook  me;  and  Mars  over- 
came me  and  took  back  his  own.  The  Christian  god  is 
not  yet.  He  will  come  when  Mars  and  I  are  dust;  but 
meanwhile  I  must  serve  the  gods  that  are,  not  the  God 
that  will  be.  Until  then  I  accept  service  in  the  Guard, 
Caesar. 

The  Emperor.  Very  wisely  said.  All  really  sensible 
men  agree  that  the  prudent  course  is  to  be  neither  bigoted 
in  our  attachment  to  the  old  nor  rash  and  unpractical  in 
keeping  an  open  mind  for  the  new,  but  to  make  the  best 
of  both  dispensations. 

The  Captain.  What  do  you  say,  Lavinia.''  Will  you 
too  be  prudent? 

Lavinia  (on  the  stair)  No:  I'll  strive  for  the  coming 
of  the  God  who  is  not  yet. 

The  Captain.  May  I  come  and  argue  with  you  occa- 
sionally ? 

Lavinia.  Yes,  handsome  Captain:  you  may.  (He 
kisses  her  hands). 

The  Emperor.  And  now,  my  friends,  though  I  do  not, 
as  you  see,  fear  this  lion,  yet  the  strain  of  his  presence 
is  considerable;  for  none  of  us  can  feel  quite  sure  what 
he  will  do  next. 


Act  II      Androcles  and  the  Lion  51 

The  Menagerie  Keeper.  Caesar:  give  us  this  Greek 
sorcerer  to  be  a  slave  in  the  menagerie.  He  has  a  way 
with  the  beasts. 

Androcles  (distressed).  Not  if  they  are  in  cages. 
They  should  not  be  kept  in  cages.  They  must  all  be 
let  out. 

The  Emperor.  I  give  this  sorcerer  to  be  a  slave  to 
the  first  man  who  lays  hands  on  him.  {The  menagerie 
keepers  and  the  gladiators  rush  for  Androcles.  The  lion 
starts  up  and  faces  them.  They  surge  back).  You  see 
how  magnanimous  we  Romans  are,  Androcles.  We  suffer 
you  to  go  in  peace. 

Androcles.  I  thank  your  worship.  I  thank  you  all, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  Come,  Tommy.  Whilst  we  stand 
together,  no  cage  for  you:  no  slavery  for  me.  (He  goes 
out  with  the  lion,  everyhody  crowding  away  to  give  him 
as  wide  a  berth  as  possible). 


In  this  play  I  have  represented  one  of  the  Roman  per- 
secutions of  the  early  Christians,  not  as  the  conflict  of  a 
false  theology  with  a  true,  but  as  what  all  such  persecu- 
tions essentially  are:  an  attempt  to  suppress  a  propa- 
ganda that  seemed  to  threaten  the  interests  involved  in 
the  established  law  and  order,  organized  and  maintained 
in  the  name  of  religion  and  justice  by  politicians  who 
are  pure  opportunist  Have-and-Holders.  People  who  are 
shewn  by  their  inner  light  the  possibility  of  a  better  world 
based  on  the  demand  of  the  spirit  for  a  nobler  and  more 
abundant  life,  not  for  themselves  at  the  expense  of  others, 
but  for  everybody,  are  naturally  dreaded  and  therefore 
hated  by  the  Have-and-Holders,  who  keep  always  in  re- 
serve two  sure  weapons  against  them.  The  first  is  a 
persecution  effected  by  the  provocation,  organization,  and 
arming  of  that  herd  instinct  which  makes  men  abhor  all 


52  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

departures  from  custom^  and,  by  the  most  cruel  punish- 
ments and  the  wildest  calumnies,  force  eccentric  people 
to  behave  and  profess  exactly  as  other  people  do.  The 
second  is  by  leading  the  herd  to  war,  which  immediately 
and  infallibly  makes  them  forget  everything,  even  their 
most  cherished  and  hardwon  public  liberties  and  private 
interests,  in  the  irresistible  surge  of  their  pugnacity  and 
the  tense  pre-occupation  of  their  terror. 

There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  there  was  anything 
more  in  the  Roman  persecutions  than  this.  The  attitude 
of  the  Roman  Emperor  and  the  officers  of  his  staff  to- 
wards the  opinions  at  issue  were  much  the  same  as  those 
of  a  modern  British  Home  Secretary  towards  members  of 
the  lower  middle  classes  when  some  pious  policeman 
charges  them  with  Bad  Taste,  technically  called  blas- 
phemy: Bad  Taste  being  a  violation  of  Good  Taste, 
which  in  such  matters  practically  means  Hypocrisy.  The 
Home  Secretary  and  the  judges  who  try  the  case  are 
usually  far  more  sceptical  and  blasphemous  than  the  poor 
men  whom  they  persecute;  and  their  professions  of  horror 
at  the  blunt  utterance  of  their  own  opinions  are  revolting 
to  those  behind  the  scenes  who  have  any  genuine  re- 
ligious sensibility ;  but  the  thing  is  done  because  the  gov- 
erning classes,  provided  only  the  law  against  blasphemy 
is  not  applied  to  themselves,  strongly  approve  of  such 
persecution  because  it  enables  them  to  represent  their 
own  privileges  as  part  of  the  religion  of  the  country. 

Therefore  my  martyrs  are  the  martyrs  of  all  time,  and 
my  persecutors  the  persecutors  of  all  time.  My  Em- 
peror, who  has  no  sense  of  the  value  of  common  people's 
lives,  and  amuses  himself  with  killing  as  carelessly  as 
with  sparing,  is  the  sort  of  monster  you  can  make  of  any 
silly-clever  gentleman  by  idolizing  him.  We  are  still  so 
easily  imposed  on  by  such  idols  that  one  of  the  leading 
pastors  of  the  Free  Churches  in  London  denounced  my 
play  on  the  ground  that  my  persecuting  Emperor  is  a 


Androcles  and  the  Lion  53 

very  fine  fellow,  and  the  persecuted  Christians  ridiculous. 
From  which  I  conclude  that  a  popular  pulpit  may  be  as 
perilous  to  a  man's  soul  as  an  imperial  throne. 

All  my  articulate  Christians,  the  reader  will  notice, 
have  different  enthusiasms,  which  they  accept  as  the  same 
religion  only  because  it  involves  them  in  a  common  op- 
position to  the  official  religion  and  consequently  in  a  com- 
mon doom.  Androcles  is  a  humanitarian  naturalist, 
whose  views  surprise  everybody.  Lavinia,  a  clever  and 
fearless  freethinker,  shocks  the  Pauline  Ferrovius,  who 
is  comparatively  stupid  and  conscience  ridden.  Spintho, 
tlie  blackguardly  debauchee,  is  presented  as  one  of  the 
typical  Christians  of  that  period  on  the  authority  of  St. 
Augustine,  who  seems  to  have  come  to  the  conclusion  at 
one  period  of  his  development  that  most  Christians  were 
what  we  call  wrong  uns.  No  doubt  he  was  to  some  extent 
right:  I  have  had  occasion  often  to  point  out  that  revolu- 
tionary movements  attract  those  who  are  not  good  enough 
for  established  institutions  as  well  as  those  who  are  too 
good  for  them. 

But  the  most  striking  aspect  of  the  play  at  this  moment 
is  the  terrible  topicality  given  it  by  the  war.  We  were 
at  peace  when  I  pointed  out,  by  the  mouth  of  Ferrovius, 
the  path  of  an  honest  man  who  finds  out,  when  the  trump- 
et sounds,  that  he  cannot  follow  Jesus.  Many  years  ear- 
lier, in  The  Devil's  Disciple,  I  touched  the  same  theme 
even  more  definitely,  and  shewed  the  minister  throwing  off 
his  black  coat  for  ever  when  he  discovered,  amid  the  thun- 
der of  the  captains  and  the  shouting,  that  he  was  a  born 
fighter.  Great  numbers  of  our  clergy  have  found  them- 
selves of  late  in  the  position  of  Ferrovius  and  Anthony 
Anderson.  They  have  discovered  that  they  hate  not  only 
their  enemies  but  everyone  who  does  not  share  their 
hatred,  and  that  they  want  to  fight  and  to  force  other 
people  to  fight.  They  have  turned  their  churches  into 
recruiting  stations  and  their  vestries  into  munition  work- 


54  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

shops.    But  it  has  never  occurred  to  them  to  take  off  their 
black  coats  and  say  quite  simply,  "I  find  in  the  hour  of 
trial  that  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  tosh,  and  that  I  am 
not  a  Christian.     I  apologize  for  all  the  unpatriotic  non- 
sense I  have  been  preaching  all  these  years.     Have  the 
goodness  to  give  me  a  revolver  and  a  commission  in  a 
regiment  which  has  for  its  chaplain  a  priest  of  the  god 
Mars:  my  God."    Not  a  bit  of  it.     They  have  stuck  to 
their  livings  and  served  Mars  in  the  name  of  Christ,  to 
the  scandal  of  all  religious  mankind.     When  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York  behaved  like  a  gentleman  and  the  Head 
Master  of  Eton  preached  a  Christian  sermon,  and  were 
reviled  by  the  rabble,  the  Martian  parsons  encouraged 
the  rabble.     For  this  they  made  no  apologies  or  excuses, 
good  or  bad.     They  simple  indulged  their  passions,  just 
as  they  had  always  indulged  their  class  prejudices  and 
commercial  interests,  without  troubling  themselves  for  a 
moment  as  to  whether  they  were  Christians  or  not.     They 
did  not  protest  even  when  a  body  calling  itself  the  Anti- 
German  League  (not  having  noticed,  apparently,  that  it 
had  been  anticipated  by  the  British  Empire,  the  French 
Republic,  and  the  Kingdoms  of  Italy,  Japan,  and  Serbia) 
actually  succeeded  in  closing  a  church  at  Forest  Hill  in 
which   God   was   worshipped   in  the   German   language. 
One  would  have  supposed  that  this  grotesque  outrage  on 
the  commonest  decencies  of  religion  would  have  provoked 
a  remonstrance  from  even  the  worldliest  bench  of  bishops. 
But  no:  apparently  it  seemed  to  the  bishops  as  natural 
that  the  House  of  God  should  be  looted  when  He  allowed 
German  to  be  spoken  in  it  as  that  a  baker's  shop  with  a 
German  name  over  the  door  should  be  pillaged.     Their 
verdict  was,  in  effect,  "Serve  God  right,  for  creating  the 
Germans !"    The  incident  would  have  been  impossible  in 
a   country   where   the    Church   was   as   powerful   as   the 
Church  of  England,  had  it  had  at  the  same  time  a  spark 
of  catholic  as  distinguished  from  tribal  religion  in  it. 


Androcles  and  the  Lion  55 

As  it  is,  the  thing  occurred ;  and  as  far  as  I  have  observed, 
the  only  people  who  gasped  were  the  Freethinkers. 

Thus  we  see  that  even  among  men  who  make  a  pro- 
fession of  religion  the  great  majority  are  as  Martian  as 
the  majority  of  their  congregations.  The  average  clergy- 
man is  an  official  who  makes  his  living  by  christening 
babies,  marrying  adults,  conducting  a  ritual,  and  making 
the  best  he  can  (when  he  has  any  conscience  about  it)  of 
a  certain  routine  of  school  superintendence,  district  visit- 
ing, and  organization  of  almsgiving,  which  does  not 
necessarily  touch  Christianity  at  any  point  except  the 
point  of  the  tongue.  The  exceptional  or  religious  clergy- 
man may  be  an  ardent  Pauline  Salvationist,  in  which  case 
his  more  cultivated  parishioners  dislike  him,  and  say  that 
he  ought  to  have  joined  the  Methodists.  Or  he  may  be 
an  artist  expressing  religious  emotion  without  intellectual 
definition  by  means  of  poetry,  music,  vestments  and 
architecture,  also  producing  religious  ecstacy  by  physical 
expedients,  such  as  fasts  and  vigils,  in  which  case  he  is 
denounced  as  a  Ritualist.  Or  he  may  be  either  a  Uni- 
tarian Deist  like  Voltaire  or  Tom  Paine,  or  the  more 
modern  sort  of  Anglican  Theosophist  to  whom  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  the  Elan  Vital  of  Bergson,  and  the  Father  and 
Son  are  an  expression  of  the  fact  that  our  functions  and 
aspects  are  manifold,  and  that  we  are  all  sons  and  all 
either  potential  or  actual  parents,  in  which  case  he  is 
strongly  suspected  by  the  straiter  Salvationists  of  being 
little  better  than  an  Atheist.  All  these  varieties,  you  see, 
excite  remark.  They  may  be  very  popular  with  their  con- 
gregations ;  but  they  are  regarded  by  the  average  man  as 
the  freaks  of  the  Church.  The  Church,  like  the  society 
of  which  it  is  an  organ,  is  balanced  and  steadied  by  the 
great  central  Pliilistine  mass  above  whom  theology  looms 
as  a  highly  spoken  of  and  doubtless  most  important 
thing,  like  Greek  Tragedy,  or  classical  music,  or  the  high- 
er mathematics,  but  who  are  very  glad  when  church  is 


56  Androcles  and  the  Lion 

over  and  they  can  go  home  to  lunch  or  dinner,  having  in 
fact,  for  all  practical  purposes,  no  reasoned  convictions 
at  all,  and  being  equally  ready  to  persecute  a  poor  Free- 
thinker for  saying  that  St.  James  was  not  infallible,  and 
to  send  one  of  the  Peculiar  People  to  prison  for  being  so 
very  peculiar  as  to  take  St.  James  seriously. 

In  short,  a  Christian  martyr  was  thrown  to  the  lions 
not  because  he  was  a  Christian,  but  because  he  was  a 
crank:  that  is,  an  unusual  sort  of  person.  And  multi- 
tudes of  people,  quite  as  civilized  and  amiable  as  we, 
crowded  to  see  the  lions  eat  him  just  as  they  now  crowd 
the  lion-house  in  the  Zoo  at  feeding-time,  not  because  they 
really  cared  two-pence  about  Diana  or  Christ,  or  could 
have  given  you  any  intelligent  or  correct  account  of  the 
things  Diana  and  Christ  stood  against  one  another  for, 
but  simply  because  they  wanted  to  see  a  curious  and  ex- 
citing spectacle.  You,  dear  reader,  have  probably  run  to 
see  a  fire ;  and  if  somebody  came  in  now  and  told  you  that 
a  lion  was  chasing  a  man  down  the  street  you  would  rush 
to  the  window.  And  if  anyone  were  to  say  that  you  were 
as  cruel  as  the  people  who  let  the  lion  loose  on  the  man, 
you  would  be  justly  indignant.  Now  that  we  may  no 
longer  see  a  man  hanged,  we  assemble  outside  the  jail 
to  see  the  black  flag  run  up.  That  is  our  duller  method 
of  enjoying  ourselves  in  the  old  Roman  spirit.  And  if 
the  Government  decided  to  throw  persons  of  unpopular  or 
eccentric  views  to  the  lions  in  the  Albert  Hall  or  the 
Earl's  Court  stadium  tomorrow,  can  you  doubt  that  all 
the  seats  would  be  crammed,  mostly  by  people  who  could 
not  give  you  the  most  superficial  account  of  the  views 
in  question.  Much  less  unlikely  things  have  happened. 
It  is  true  that  if  such  a  revival  does  take  place  soon,  the 
martyrs  will  not  be  members  of  heretical  religious  sects : 
they  will  be  Peculiars,  Anti-Vivisectionists,  Flat-Earth 
men,  scoffers  at  the  laboratories,  or  infidels  who  refuse  to 
kneel  down  when  a  procession  of  doctors  goes  by.     But 


Androcles  and  the  Lion  57 

the  lions  will  hurt  them  just  as  much,  and  the  spectators 
will  enjoy  themselves  just  as  much,  as  the  Roman  lions 
and  spectators  used  to  do. 

It  was  currently  reported  in  the  Berlin  newspapers 
that  when  Androcles  was  first  performed  in  Berlin,  the 
Crown  Prince  rose  and  left  the  house,  unable  to  endure 
the  (I  hope)  very  clear  and  fair  exposition  of  autocratic 
Imperialism  given  by  the  Roman  captain  to  his  Christian 
prisoners.  No  English  Imperialist  was  intelligent  and 
earnest  enough  to  do  the  same  in  London.  If  the  report 
is  correct,  I  confirm  the  logic  of  the  Crown  Prince,  and 
am  glad  to  find  myself  so  well  understood.  But  I  can 
assure  him  that  the  Empire  which  served  for  my  model 
when  I  wrote  Androcles  was,  as  he  is  now  finding  to  his 
cost,  much  nearer  my  home  than  the  German  one. 


OVERRULED 
XXIV 

1912 


PREFACE  TO  OVERRULED. 

The  Alleviations  of  Monogamy. 

This  piece  is  not  an  argument  for  or  against  polygamy. 
It  is  a  clinical  study  of  how  the  thing  actually  occurs 
among  quite  ordinary  people^  innocent  of  all  unconven- 
tional views  concerning  it.  The  enormous  majority  of 
cases  in  real  life  are  those  of  people  in  that  position. 
Those  who  deliberately  and  conscientiously  profess  what 
are  oddly  called  advanced  views  by  those  others  who 
believe  them  to  be  retrograde,  are  often,  and  indeed  most- 
ly, the  last  i^eople  in  the  world  to  engage  in  uncon- 
ventional adventures  of  any  kind,  not  only  because  they 
have  neither  time  nor  disposition  for  them,  but  because 
the  friction  set  up  between  the  individual  and  the  com- 
mimity  by  the  expression  of  imusual  views  of  any  sort 
is  quite  enough  hindrance  to  the  heretic  without  being 
complicated  by  personal  scandals.  Thus  the  theoretic 
libertine  is  usually  a  person  of  blameless  family  life, 
whilst  the  practical  libertine  is  mercilessly  severe  on  all 
other  libertines,  and  excessively  conventional  in  profes- 
sions of  social  principle. 

What  is  more,  these  professions  are  not  hypocritical : 
they  are  for  the  most  part  quite  sincere.  The  common 
libertine,  like  the  drunkard,  succumbs  to  a  temptation 
which  he  does  not  defend,  and  against  which  he  warns 
others  with  an  earnestness  proportionate  to  the  intensity 
of  his  own  remorse.  He  (or  she)  may  be  a  liar  and  a 
humbug,  pretending  to  be  better  than  the  detected  lib- 
ertines,  and   clamoring   for  their   condign   punishment; 

61 


62  Preface  to  Overruled 

but  this  is  mere  self-defence.  No  reasonable  person  ex- 
pects the  burglar  to  confess  his  pursuits,  or  to  refrain 
from  joining  in  the  cry  of  Stop  Thief  when  the  police 
get  on  the  track  of  another  burglar.  If  society  chooses 
to  penalize  candor^  it  has  itself  to  thank  if  its  attack  is 
countered  by  falsehood.  The  clamorous  virtue  of  the 
libertine  is  therefore  no  more  hypocritical  than  the  plea 
of  Not  Guilty  which  is  allowed  to  every  criminal.  But 
one  result  is  that  the  theorists  who  write  most  sincerely 
and  favorably  about  polygamy  know  least  about  it;  and 
the  practitioners  who  know  most  about  it  keep  their 
knowledge  very  jealously  to  themselves.  Which  is  hard- 
ly fair  to  the  practice. 

Inaccessibility  of  the  Facts. 

Also  it  is  impossible  to  estimate  its  prevalence.  A 
practice  to  which  nobody  confesses  may  be  both  uni- 
versal and  unsuspected,  just  as  a  virtue  which  everybody 
is  expected,  under  heavy  penalties,  to  claim,  may  have 
no  existence.  It  is  often  assumed — indeed  it  is  the  offi- 
cial assumption  of  the  Churches  and  the  divorce  courts — • 
that  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  cannot  be  alone  together 
innocently.  And  that  is  manifest  blazing  nonsense, 
though  many  women  have  been  stoned  to  death  in  the 
east,  and  divorced  in  the  west,  on  the  strength  of  it.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  innocent  and  conventional  people  who 
regard  the  gallant  adventures  as  crimes  of  so  horrible  a 
nature  that  only  the  most  depraved  and  desperate  char- 
acters engage  in  them  or  would  listen  to  advances  in  that 
direction  without  raising  an  alarm  with  the  noisiest  indig- 
nation, are  clearly  examples  of  the  fact  that  most  sections 
of  society  do  not  know  how  the  other  sections  live.  In- 
dustry is  the  most  effective  check  on  gallantry.  Women 
may,  as  Napoleon  said,  be  the  occupation  of  the  idle  man 
just  as  men  are  the  preoccupation  of  the  idle  woman;  but 


Preface  to  Overruled  63 

the  mass  of  mankind  is  too  busy  and  too  poor  for  the  long 
and  expensive  sieges  which  the  professed  libertine  lays 
to  virtue.  Still,  wherever  there  is  idleness  or  even  a  rea- 
sonable supply  of  elegant  leisure  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
coquetry  and  philandering.  It  is  so  much  pleasanter  to 
dance  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  than  to  go  over  it  that 
leisured  society  is  full  of  people  who  spend  a  great  part 
of  their  lives  in  flirtation,  and  conceal  nothing  but  the 
humiliating  secret  that  they  have  never  gone  any  further. 
For  there  is  no  pleasing  people  in  the  matter  of  repu- 
tation in  this  department :  every  insult  is  a  flattery ;  every 
testimonial  is  a  disparagement:  Joseph  is  despised  and 
promoted,  Potiphar's  wife  admired  and  condemned:  in 
short,  you  are  never  on  solid  ground  until  you  get  away 
from  the  subject  altogether.  There  is  a  continual  and 
irreconcilable  conflict  between  the  natural  and  conven- 
tional sides  of  the  case,  between  spontaneous  human 
relations  between  independent  men  and  women  on  the 
one  hand  and  the  property  relation  between  husband  and 
wife  on  the  other,  not  to  mention  the  confusion  under  the 
common  name  of  love  of  a  generous  natural  attraction 
and  interest  with  the  murderous  jealousy  that  fastens 
on  and  clings  to  its  mate  (especially  a  hated  mate)  as  a 
tiger  fastens  on  a  carcase.  And  the  confusion  is  natural ; 
for  these  extremes  are  extremes  of  the  same  passion ;  and 
most  cases  lie  somewhere  on  the  scale  between  them,  and 
are  so  complicated  by  ordinary  likes  and  dislikes,  by  inci- 
dental wounds  to  vanity  or  gratifications  of  it,  and  by 
class  feeling,  that  A  will  be  jealous  of  B  and  not  of  C, 
and  will  tolerate  infidelities  on  the  part  of  D  whilst  being 
furiously  angry  when  they  are  committed  by  E. 

The  Convention  of  Jealousy. 

That  jealousy  is  independent  of  sex  is  shewn  by  its 
intensity  in  children,  and  by  the  fact  that  very  jealous 


64  Preface  to  Overruled 

people  are  jealous  of  everybody  without  regard  to  rela- 
tionship or  sex,  and  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  person  they 
"love"  speak  favorably  of  anyone  under  any  circumstances 
(many  women,  for  instance,  are  much  more  jealous  of 
their  husbands'  mothers  and  sisters  than  of  unrelated  wo- 
men whom  they  suspect  him  of  fancying)  ;  but  it  is  seldom 
possible  to  disentangle  the  two  passions  in  practice.  Be- 
sides, jealousy  is  an  inculcated  passion,  forced  by  society 
on  people  in  whom  it  would  not  occur  spontaneously.  In 
Brieux's  Bourgeois  aux  Champs,  the  benevolent  hero  finds 
himself  detested  by  the  neighboring  peasants  and  farmers, 
not  because  he  preserves  game,  and  sets  mantraps  for 
poachers,  and  defends  his  legal  rights  over  his  land  to  the 
extremest  point  of  unsocial  savagery,  but  because,  being 
an  amiable  and  public-spirited  person,  he  refuses  to  do  all 
this,  and  thereby  offends  and  disparages  the  sense  of 
property  in  his  neighbors.  The  same  thing  is  true  of 
matrimonial  jealousy;  the  man  who  does  not  at  least  pre- 
tend to  feel  it  and  behave  as  badly  as  if  he  really  felt  it  is 
despised  and  insulted;  and  many  a  man  has  shot  or 
stabbed  a  friend  or  been  shot  or  stabbed  by  him  in  a  duel, 
or  disgraced  himself  and  ruined  his  own  wife  in  a  divorce 
scandal,  against  his  conscience,  against  his  instinct,  and 
to  the  destruction  of  his  home,  solely  because  Society 
conspired  to  drive  him  to  keep  its  own  lower  morality  in 
countenance  in  this  miserable  and  undignified  manner. 

Morality  is  confused  in  such  matters.  In  an  elegant 
plutocracy,  a  jealous  husband  is  regarded  as  a  boor. 
Among  the  tradesmen  who  supply  that  plutocracy  with  its 
meals,  a  husband  who  is  not  jealous,  and  refrains  from  as- 
sailing his  rival  with  his  fists,  is  regarded  as  a  ridiculous, 
contemptible  and  cowardly  cuckold.  And  the  laboring 
class  is  divided  into  the  respectable  section  which  takes 
the  tradesman's  view,  and  the  disreputable  section  which 
enjoys  the  license  of  the  plutocracy  without  its  money: 
creeping  below  the  law  as   its   exemplars  prance  above 


Preface  to  OveriTiled  65 

it;  cutting  down  all  expenses  of  respectability  and  even 
decency;  and  frankly  accepting  squalor  and  disrepute  as 
the  price  of  anarchic  self-indulgence.  The  conflict  be- 
tween Malvolio  and  Sir  Toby,  between  the  marquis  and 
the  bourgeois,  the  cavalier  and  the  puritan,  the  ascetic  and 
the  voluptuary,  goes  on  continually,  and  goes  on  not  only 
between  class  and  class  and  individual  and  individual, 
but  in  the  selfsame  breast  in  a  series  of  reactions  and 
revulsions  in  which  the  irresistible  becomes  the  unbear- 
able, and  the  unbearable  the  irresistible,  until  none  of  us 
can  say  what  our  characters  really  are  in  this  respect. 

The  Missing  Data  of  a  Scientific  Natural 
History  of  Marriage. 

Of  one  thing  I  am  persuaded:  we  shall  never  attain  to 
a  reasonable  healthy  public  opinion  on  sex  questions  until 
we  offer,  as  the  data  for  that  opinion,  our  actual  conduct 
and  our  real  thoughts  instead  of  a  moral  fiction  which 
we  agree  to  call  virtuous  conduct,  and  which  we  then — 
and  here  comes  in  the  mischief — pretend  is  our  conduct 
and  our  thoughts.  If  the  result  were  that  we  all  believed 
one  another  to  be  better  than  we  really  are,  there  would  be 
something  to  be  said  for  it;  but  the  actual  result  appears 
to  be  a  monstrous  exaggeration  of  the  power  and  conti- 
nuity of  sexual  passion.  The  whole  world  shares  the  fate 
of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  who,  though  slie  seems  on  investiga- 
tion to  have  been  quite  a  suitable  wife  for  a  modern  British 
Bishop,  has  been  invested  by  the  popular  historical  im- 
agination with  all  the  extravagances  of  a  Messalina  or  a 
Cenci.  Writers  of  belles  lettres  who  are  rash  enough 
to  admit  that  their  whole  life  is  not  one  constant  preoc- 
cupation with  adored  members  of  the  opposite  sex,  and 
who  even  countenance  La  Rochefoucauld's  remark  that 
very  few  people  would  ever  imagine  themselves  in  love  if 
13 


66  Preface  to  Overruled 

they  had  never  read  anything  about  it,  are  gravely  de- 
clared to  be  abnormal  or  physically  defective  by  critics 
of  crushing  unadventurousness  and  domestication.  French 
authors  of  saintly  temperament  are  forced  to  include 
in  their  retinue  countesses  of  ardent  complexion  with 
whom  they  are  supposed  to  live  in  sin.  Sentimental  con- 
troversies on  the  subject  are  endless;  but  they  are  useless, 
because  nobody  tells  the  truth.  Rousseau  did  it  by  an 
extraordinary  effort,  aided  by  a  superhuman  faculty  for 
human  natural  history,  but  the  result  was  curiously  discon- 
certing because,  though  the  facts  were  so  conventionally 
shocking  that  people  felt  that  they  ought  to  matter  a  great 
deal,  they  actually  mattered  very  little.  And  even  at  that 
everybody  pretends  not  to  believe  him. 

Artificial  Retribution. 

The  worst  of  that  is  that  busybodies  with  perhaps 
rather  more  than  a  normal  taste  for  mischief  are  continu- 
ally trying  to  make  negligible  things  matter  as  much  in 
fact  as  they  do  in  convention  by  deliberately  inflicting 
injuries — sometimes  atrocious  injuries — on  the  parties 
concerned.  Few  people  have  any  knowledge  of  the  sav- 
age punishments  that  are  legally  inflicted  for  aberrations 
and  absurdities  to  which  no  sanely  instructed  commimity 
would  call  any  attention.  We  create  an  artificial  moral- 
ity, and  consequently  an  artificial  conscience,  by  manu- 
facturing disastrous  consequences  for  events  which,  left 
to  themselves,  would  do  very  little  harm  (sometimes  not 
any)  and  be  forgotten  in  a  few  days. 

But  the  artificial  morality  is  not  therefore  to  be  con- 
demned offhand.  In  many  cases  it  may  save  mischief 
instead  of  making  it :  for  example,  though  the  hanging  of 
a  murderer  is  the  duplication  of  a  murder,  yet  it  may  be 
less  murderous  than  leaving  the  matter  to  be  settled  by 
blood  feud  or  vendetta.     As  long  as  human  nature  insists 


Preface  to  Overruled  67 

on  revenge^  the  official  organization  and  satisfaction  of 
revenge  by  the  State  may  be  also  its  minimization.  The 
mischief  begins  when  the  official  revenge  persists  after  the 
passion  it  satisfies  has  died  out  of  the  race.  Stoning  a 
woman  to  death  in  the  east  because  she  has  ventured  to 
marry  again  after  being  deserted  by  her  husband  may  be 
more  merciful  than  allowing  her  to  be  mobbed  to  death ; 
but  the  official  stoning  or  burning  of  an  adulteress  in  the 
west  would  be  an  atrocity  because  few  of  us  hate  an 
adulteress  to  the  extent  of  desiring  such  a  penalty,  or  of 
being  prepared  to  take  the  law  into  our  own  hands  if  it 
were  withheld.  Now  what  applies  to  this  extreme  case 
applies  also  in  due  degree  to  the  other  cases.  Offences  in 
which  sex  is  concerned  are  often  needlessly  magnified  by 
penalties,  ranging  from  various  forms  of  social  ostracism 
to  long  sentences  of  penal  servitude,  which  would  be  seen 
to  be  monstrously  disproportionate  to  the  real  feeling 
against  them  if  the  removal  of  both  the  penalties  and  the 
taboo  on  their  discussion  made  it  possible  for  us  to  ascer- 
tain their  real  prevalence  and  estimation.  Fortunately 
there  is  one  outlet  for  the  truth.  We  are  permitted  to 
discuss  in  jest  what  we  may  not  discuss  in  earnest.  A 
serious  comedy  about  sex  is  taboo:  a  farcical  comedy  is 
privileged. 

The  Favorite  Subject  of  Farcical  Comedy. 

The  little  piece  which  follows  this  preface  accordingly 
takes  the  form  of  a  farcical  comedy,  because  it  is  a  con- 
tribution to  the  very  extensive  dramatic  literature  which 
takes  as  its  special  department  the  gallantries  of  married 
people.  The  stage  has  been  preoccupied  by  such  affairs 
for  centuries,  not  only  in  the  jesting  vein  of  Restoration 
Comedy  and  Palais  Royal  farce,  but  in  the  more  tragically 
turned  adulteries  of  the  Parisian  school  which  dominated 
the  stage  until  Ibsen  put  them  out  of  countenance  and 


68  Preface  to  Overruled 

relegated  them  to  their  proper  place  as  articles  of  com- 
merce. Their  continued  vogue  in  that  department  main- 
tains the  tradition  that  adultery  is  the  dramatic  subject 
par  excellence,  and  indeed  that  a  play  that  is  not  about 
adultery  is  not  a  play  at  all.  I  was  considered  a  heresi- 
arch  of  the  most  extravagant  kind  when  I  expressed  my 
opinion  at  the  outset  of  my  career  as  a  playwright,  that 
adultery  is  the  dullest  of  themes  on  the  stage,  and  that 
from  Francesca  and  Paolo  down  to  the  latest  guilty  couple 
of  the  school  of  Dumas  fils,  the  romantic  adulterers  have 
all  been  intolerable  bores. 

The  Pseudo  Sex  Play. 

Later  on,  I  had  occasion  to  point  out  to  the  defenders 
of  sex  as  the  proper  theme  of  drama,  that  though  they 
were  right  in  ranking  sex  as  an  intensely  interesting  sub- 
ject, they  were  wrong  in  assuming  that  sex  is  an  indis- 
pensable motive  in  popular  plays.  The  plays  of  Moliere 
are,  like  the  novels  of  the  Victorian  epoch  or  Don  Quixote, 
as  nearly  sexless  as  anything  not  absolutely  inhuman  can 
be ;  and  some  of  Shakespear's  plays  are  sexually  on  a  par 
with  the  census:  they  contain  women  as  well  as  men,  and 
that  is  all.  This  had  to  be  admitted;  but  it  was  still 
assumed  that  the  plays  of  the  XIX  century  Parisian 
school  are,  in  contrast  with  the  sexless  masterpieces,  sat- 
urated with  sex;  and  this  I  strenuously  denied.  A  play 
about  the  convention  that  a  man  should  fight  a  duel  or 
come  to  fisticuffs  with  his  wife's  lover  if  she  has  one,  or 
the  convention  that  he  should  strangle  her  like  Othello,  or 
turn  her  out  of  the  house  and  never  see  her  or  allow  her 
to  see  her  children  again,  or  the  convention  that  she  should 
never  be  spoken  to  again  by  any  decent  person  and  should 
finally  drown  herself,  or  the  convention  that  persons  in- 
volved in  scenes  of  recrimination  or  confession  by  these 
conventions  should  call  each  other  certain  abusive  names 


Preface  to  Overruled  69 

and  describe  their  conduct  as  guilty  and  frail  and  so  on : 
all  these  may  provide  material  for  very  eifective  plays; 
but  such  plays  are  not  dramatic  studies  of  sex:  one  might 
as  well  say  that  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  a  dramatic  study  of 
pharmacy  because  the  catastrophe  is  brought  about 
through  an  apothecary.  Duels  are  not  sex;  divorce  cases 
are  not  sex ;  the  Trade  Unionism  of  married  women  is  not 
sex.  Only  the  most  insignificant  fraction  of  the  gallan- 
tries of  married  people  produce  any  of  the  conventional 
results ;  and  plays  occupied  wholly  with  the  conventional 
results  are  therefore  utterly  unsatisfying  as  sex  plays, 
however  interesting  they  may  be  as  plays  of  intrigue  and 
plot  puzzles. 

The  world  is  finding  this  out  rapidly.  The  Sunday 
papers,  which  in  the  days  when  they  appealed  almost 
exclusively  to  the  lower  middle  class  were  crammed  with 
police  intelligence,  and  more  especially  with  divorce  and 
murder  cases,  now  lay  no  stress  on  them;  and  police 
papers  which  confined  themselves  entirely  to  such  matters, 
and  were  once  eagerly  read,  have  perished  through  the 
essential  dulness  of  their  topics.  And  yet  the  interest 
in  sex  is  stronger  than  ever:  in  fact,  the  literature 
that  has  driven  out  the  journalism  of  the  divorce  courts 
is  a  literature  occupied  with  sex  to  an  extent  and  with 
an  intimacy  and  frankness  that  would  have  seemed  utterly 
impossible  to  Thackeray  or  Dickens  if  they  had  been  told 
that  the  change  would  complete  itself  within  fifty  years 
of  their  own  time. 

Art  and  Morality. 

It  is  ridiculous  to  say,  as  inconsiderate  amateurs  of  the 
arts  do,  that  art  has  nothing  to  do  with  morality.  Wliat  is 
true  is  that  the  artist's  business  is  not  that  of  the  police- 
man ;  and  that  such  factitious  consequences  and  put-up 
jobs  as  divorces  and  executions  and  the  detective  opera- 


70  Preface  to  Overruled 

tions  that  lead  up  to  them  are  no  essential  part  of  life, 
though,  like  poisons  and  buttered  slides  and  red-hot 
pokers,  they  provide  material  for  plenty  of  thrilling  or 
amusing  stories  suited  to  people  who  are  incapable  of  any 
interest  in  psychology.  But  the  fine  artists  must  keep  the 
policeman  out  of  his  studies  of  sex  and  studies  of  crime. 
It  is  by  clinging  nervously  to  the  policeman  that  most  of 
the  pseudo  sex  plays  convince  me  that  the  writers  have 
either  never  had  any  serious  personal  experience  of  their 
ostensible  subject,  or  else  have  never  conceived  it  possi- 
ble that  the  stage  door  present  the  phenomena  of  sex  as 
they  appear  in  nature. 


The  Limits  of  Stage  Presentation, 

But  the  stage  presents  much  more  shocking  phenomena 
than  those  of  sex.  There  is,  of  course,  a  sense  in  which 
you  cannot  present  sex  on  the  stage,  just  as  you  cannot 
present  murder.  Macbeth  must  no  more  really  kill  Dun- 
can than  he  must  himself  be  really  slain  by  Macduff.  But 
the  feelings  of  a  murderer  can  be  expressed  in  a  certain 
artistic  convention;  and  a  carefully  prearranged  sword 
exercise  can  be  gone  through  with  sufficient  pretence  of 
earnestness  to  be  accepted  by  the  willing  imaginations 
of  the  younger  spectators  as  a  desperate  combat. 

The  tragedy  of  love  has  been  presented  on  the  stage  in 
the  same  way.  In  Tristan  and  Isolde,  the  curtain  does 
not,  as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  rise  with  the  lark:  the  whole 
night  of  love  is  played  before  the  spectators.  The  lovers 
do  not  discuss  marriage  in  an  elegantly  sentimental  way : 
they  utter  the  visions  and  feelings  that  come  to  lovers  at 
the  supreme  moments  of  their  love,  totally  forgetting  that 
there  are  such  things  in  the  world  as  husbands  and  law- 
yers and  duelling  codes  and  theories  of  sin  and  notions  of 
propriety  and  all  the  other  irrelevancies  which  provide 


Preface  to  Overruled  71 

hackneyed  and  bloodless  material  for  our  so-called  plays 
of  passion. 

Pruderies  of  the  Frencli  Stage. 

To  all  stage  presentations  there  are  limits.  If  Macduff 
were  to  stab  Macbeth,  the  spectacle  would  be  intolerable ; 
and  even  the  pretence  which  we  allow  on  our  stage  is 
ridiculously  destructive  to  the  illusion  of  the  scene.  Yet 
pugilists  and  gladiators  will  actually  fight  and  kill  in  pub- 
lic without  sham,  even  as  a  spectacle  for  money.  But  no 
sober  couple  of  lovers  of  any  delicacy  could  endure  to  be 
watched.  We  in  England,  accustomed  to  consider  the 
French  stage  much  more  licentious  than  the  British,  are 
always  surprised  and  puzzled  when  we  learn,  as  we  may 
do  any  day  if  we  come  within  reach  of  such  information, 
that  French  actors  are  often  scandalized  by  what  they  con- 
sider the  indecency  of  the  English  stage,  and  that  French 
actresses  who  desire  a  greater  license  in  appealing  to  the 
sexual  instincts  than  the  French  stage  allows  them,  learn 
and  establish  themselves  on  the  English  stage.  The  Ger- 
man and  Russian  stages  are  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
French  and  perhaps  more  or  less  all  the  Latin  stages.  The 
reason  is  that,  partly  from  a  want  of  respect  for  the 
theatre,  partly  from  a  sort  of  respect  for  art  in  general 
which  moves  them  to  accord  moral  privileges  to  artists, 
partly  from  the  very  objectionable  tradition  that  the 
realm  of  art  is  Alsatia  and  the  contemplation  of  works 
of  art  a  holiday  from  the  burden  of  virtue,  partly  be- 
cause French  prudery  does  not  attach  itself  to  the  same 
points  of  behavior  as  British  prudery,  and  has  a  dif- 
ferent code  of  the  mentionable  and  the  unmentionable, 
and  for  many  other  reasons  the  French  tolerate  plays 
which  are  never  performed  in  England  until  they  have 
been  spoiled  by  a  process  of  bowdlerization ;  yet  French 
taste  is  more  fastidious  than  ours  as  to  the  exhibition  and 


72  Preface  to  Overruled 

treatment  on  the  stage  of  the  physical  incidents  of  sex. 
On  the  French  stage  a  kiss  is  as  obvious  a  convention  as 
the  thrust  under  the  arm  by  which  Macduff  runs  Macbeth 
through.  It  is  even  a  purposely  unconvincing  conven- 
tion :  the  actors  rather  insisting  that  it  shall  be  impossible 
for  any  spectator  to  mistake  a  stage  kiss  for  a  real  one. 
In  England^  on  the  contrary,  realism  is  carried  to  the 
point  at  which  nobody  except  the  two  performers  can  per- 
ceive that  the  caress  is  not  genuine.  And  here  the  Eng- 
lish stage  is  certainly  in  the  right;  for  whatever  question 
there  arises  as  to  what  incidents  are  proper  for  represen- 
tation on  the  stage  or  not,  my  experience  as  a  playgoer 
leaves  me  in  no  donbt  that  once  it  is  decided  to  represent 
an  incident,  it  will  be  offensive,  no  matter  whether  it  be  a 
prayer  or  a  kiss,  unless  it  is  presented  with  a  convincing 
appearance  of  sincerity. 

Our  Disilluslve  Scenery. 

For  example,  the  main  objection  to  the  use  of  illusive 
scenery  (in  most  modern  plays  scenery  is  not  illusive; 
everything  visible  is  as  real  as  in  your  drawing  room  at 
home)  is  that  it  is  unconvincing;  whilst  the  imaginary 
scenery  with  which  the  audience  provides  a  platform  or 
tribune  like  the  Elizabethan  stage  or  the  Greek  stage  used 
by  Sophocles,  is  quite  convincing.  In  fact,  the  more 
scenery  you  have  the  less  illusion  you  produce.  The  wise 
playwright,  when  he  cannot  get  absolute  reality  of  pres- 
entation, goes  to  the  other  extreme,  and  aims  at  atmos- 
phere and  suggestion  of  mood  rather  than  at  direct  simu- 
lative illusion.  The  theatre,  as  I  first  knew  it,  was  a  place 
of  wings  and  flats  which  destroyed  both  atmosphere  and 
illusion.  This  was  tolerated,  and  even  intensely  enjoyed, 
but  not  in  the  least  because  nothing  better  was  possible; 
for  all  the  devices  employed  in  the  productions  of  Mr. 
Granville  Barker  or  Max  Reinhardt  or  the  Moscow  Art 


Preface  to  Overruled  73 

Theatre  were  equally  available  for  Colley  Cibber  and 
Garrick,  except  the  intensity  of  our  artificial  light.  When 
Garrick  played  Richard  II  in  slashed  trunk  hose  and 
plumes,  it  was  not  because  he  believed  that  the  Plantag- 
enets  dressed  like  that,  or  because  the  costumers  could 
not  have  made  him  a  XV  century  dress  as  easily  as  a 
nondescript  combination  of  the  state  robes  of  George  III 
with  such  scraps  of  older  fashions  as  seemed  to  playgoers 
for  some  reason  to  be  romantic.  The  charm  of  the  the- 
atre in  those  days  was  its  makebelieve.  It  has  that  charm 
still,  not  only  for  the  amateurs,  who  are  happiest  when 
they  are  most  unnatural  and  impossible  and  absurd,  but 
for  audiences  as  well.  I  have  seen  performances  of  my 
own  plays  which  were  to  me  far  wilder  burlesques  than 
Sheridan's  Critic  or  Buckingham's  Rehearsal;  yet  they 
have  produced  sincere  laughter  and  tears  such  as  the  most 
finished  metropolitan  productions  have  failed  to  elicit. 
Fielding  was  entirely  right  when  he  represented  Partridge 
as  enjoying  intensely  the  performance  of  the  king  in 
Hamlet  because  anybody  could  see  that  the  king  was  an 
actor,  and  resenting  Garrick's  Hamlet  because  it  might 
have  been  a  real  man.  Yet  we  have  only  to  look  at  the 
portraits  of  Garrick  to  see  that  his  performances  would 
nowadays  seem  almost  as  extravagantly  stagey  as  his 
costumes.  In  our  day  Calve's  intensely  real  Carmen 
never  pleased  the  mob  as  much  as  the  obvious  fancy 
ball  masquerading  of  suburban  yoimg  ladies  in  the  same 
character. 

Holding  the  Mirror  up  to  Nature. 

Theatrical  art  begins  as  the  holding  up  to  Nature  of  a 
distorting  mirror.  In  this  phase  it  pleases  people  who 
are  childish  enough  to  believe  that  they  can  see  what  they 
look  like  and  what  they  are  when  they  look  at  a  true 
mirror.     Naturally  they  think  that  a  true  mirror  can  teach 


74  Preface  to  Overruled 

them  nothing.  Only  by  giving  them  back  some  mon- 
strous image  can  the  mirror  amuse  them  or  terrify  them. 
It  is  not  until  they  grow  up  to  the  point  at  which  they 
learn  that  they  know  very  little  about  themselves,  and  that 
they  do  not  see  themselves  in  a  true  mirror  as  other  peo- 
ple see  them,  that  they  become  consumed  with  curiosity 
as  to  what  they  really  are  like,  and  begin  to  demand  that 
the  stage  shall  be  a  mirror  of  such  accuracy  and  intensity 
of  illumination  that  thej'^  shall  be  able  to  get  glimpses  of 
their  real  selves  in  it,  and  also  learn  a  little  how  they 
appear  to   other   people. 

For  audiences  of  this  highly  developed  class,  sex  can  no 
longer  be  ignored  or  conventionalized  or  distorted  by  the 
playwright  who  makes  the  mirror.  The  old  sentimental 
extravagances  and  the  old  grossnesses  are  of  no  further 
use  to  him.  Don  Giovanni  and  Zerlina  are  not  gross: 
Tristan  and  Isolde  are  not  extravagant  or  sentimental. 
They  say  and  do  nothing  that  you  cannot  bear  to  hear 
and  see;  and  yet  they  give  you,  the  one  pair  briefly  and 
slightly,  and  the  other  fully  and  deeply,  what  passes  in 
the  minds  of  lovers.  The  love  depicted  may  be  that  of 
a  philosophic  adventurer  tempting  an  ignorant  country 
girl,  or  of  a  tragically  serious  poet  entangled  with  a  wo- 
man of  noble  capacity  in  a  passion  which  has  become  for 
them  the  reality  of  the  whole  imiverse.  No  matter:  the 
thing  is  dramatized  and  dramatized  directly,  not  talked 
about  as  something  that  happened  before  the  curtain  rose, 
or  that  will  happean  after  it  falls. 

Farcical  Comedy  Shirking  its  Subject. 

Now  if  all  this  can  be  done  in  the  key  of  tragedy  and 
philosophic  comedy,  it  can,  I  have  always  contended,  be 
done  in  the  key  of  farcical  comedy;  and  Overruled  is  a 
trifling  experiment  in  that  manner.  Conventional  farcical 
comedies  are  always  finally  tedious  because  the  heart  of 


Preface  to  Overruled  75 

them,  the  inevitable  conjugal  infidelity,  is  always  evaded. 
Even  its  consequences  are  evaded.  Mr.  Granville  Barker 
has  pointed  out  rightly  that  if  the  third  acts  of  our 
farcical  comedies  dared  to  describe  the  consequences  that 
would  follow  from  the  first  and  second  in  real  life,  they 
would  end  as  squalid  tragedies;  and  in  my  opinion  they 
would  be  greatly  improved  thereby  even  as  entertain- 
ments; for  I  have  never  seen  a  three-act  farcical  comedy 
without  being  bored  and  tired  by  the  third  act,  and 
observing  that  the  rest  of  the  audience  were  in  the  same 
condition,  though  they  were  not  vigilantly  introspective 
enough  to  find  that  out,  and  were  apt  to  blame  one 
another,  especially  the  husbands  and  wives,  for  their 
crossness.  But  it  is  happily  by  no  means  true  that  con- 
jugal infidelities  always  produce  tragic  consequences,  or 
that  they  need  produce  even  the  unhappiness  which  they 
often  do  produce.  Besides,  the  more  momentous  the  con- 
sequences, the  more  interesting  become  the  impulses  and 
imaginations  and  reasonings,  if  any,  of  the  people  who 
disregard  them.  If  I  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  the  ghost  of  an  executed  murderer,  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  begin  to  tell  me  eagerly  about  his  trial,  with  the 
names  of  the  distinguished  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
honored  him  with  them  presence  on  that  occasion,  and 
then  about  his  execution.  All  of  which  would  bore  me 
exceedingly.  I  should  say,  "My  dear  sir:  such  manu- 
factured ceremonies  do  not  interest  me  in  the  least.  I 
know  how  a  man  is  tried,  and  how  he  is  hanged.  I  should 
have  had  you  killed  in  a  much  less  disgusting,  hypocriti- 
cal, and  unfriendly  manner  if  the  matter  had  been  in  my 
hands.  What  I  want  to  know  about  is  the  murder.  How 
did  you  feel  when  you  committed  it.^  Why  did  you  do  it.f* 
What  did  you  say  to  yourself  about  it?  If,  like  most 
murderers,  you  had  not  been  hanged,  would  you  have  com- 
mitted otlier  murders.''  Did  you  really  dislike  the  vic- 
tim, or  did  you  want  his  money,  or  did  you  murder  a  per- 


76  Preface  to  Overruled 

son  whom  you  did  not  dislike,  and  from  whose  death  you 
had  nothing  to  gain,  merely  for  the  sake  of  murdering? 
If  so,  can  you  describe  the  charm  to  me?  Does  it  come 
upon  you  periodically;  or  is  it  chronic?  Has  curiosity 
anything  to  do  with  it?"  I  would  ply  him  with  all  man- 
ner of  questions  to  find  out  what  murder  is  really  like; 
and  I  should  not  be  satisfied  until  I  had  realized  that  I, 
too,  might  commit  a  murder,  or  else  that  there  is  some 
specific  quality  present  in  a  murderer  and  lacking  in  me. 
And,  if  so,  what  that  quality  is. 

In  just  the  same  way,  I  want  the  unfaithful  husband  or 
the  unfaithful  wife  in  a  farcical  comedy  not  to  bother  me 
with  their  divorce  cases  or  the  stratagems  they  employ  to 
avoid  a  divorce  case,  but  to  tell  me  how  and  why  married 
couples  are  unfaithful.  I  don't  want  to  hear  the  lies  they 
tell  one  another  to  conceal  what  they  have  done,  but  the 
truths  they  tell  one  another  when  they  have  to  face 
what  they  have  done  without  concealment  or  excuse.  No 
doubt  prudent  and  considerate  people  conceal  such  ad- 
ventures, when  they  can,  from  those  who  are  most  likely 
to  be  wounded  by  them ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  presumed  that, 
when  found  out,  they  necessarily  disgrace  themselves  by 
irritating  lies  and  transparent  subterfuges. 

My  playlet,  which  I  offer  as  a  model  to  all  future 
writers  of  farcical  comedy,  may  now,  I  hope,  be  read  with- 
out shock.  I  may  just  add  that  Mr.  Sibthorpe  Juno's 
view  that  morality  demands,  not  that  we  should  behave 
morally  (an  impossibility  to  our  sinful  nature)  but  that 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  defend  our  immoralities,  is  a 
standard  view  in  England,  and  was  advanced  in  all  seri- 
ousness by  an  earnest  and  distinguished  British  moralist 
shortly  after  the  first  performance  of  Overruled.  My 
objection  to  that  aspect  of  the  doctrine  of  original  sin 
is  that  no  necessary  and  inevitable  operation  of  human 
nature  can  reasonably  be  regarded  as  sinful  at  all,  and 
that  a  morality  which  assumes  the  contrary  is  an  absurd 


Preface  to  Overruled  77 

morality,  and  can  be  kept  in  countenance  only  by  hypoc- 
risy. When  people  were  ashamed  of  sanitary  problems, 
and  refused  to  face  them,  leaving  them  to  solve  them- 
selves clandestinely  in  dirt  and  secrecy,  the  solution  ar- 
rived at  was  the  Black  Death.  A  similar  policy  as  to 
sex  problems  has  solved  itself  by  an  even  worse  plague 
than  the  Black  Death ;  and  the  remedy  for  that  is  not  sal- 
varsan,  but  sound  moral  hygiene,  the  first  foundation  of 
which  is  the  discontinuance  of  our  habit  of  telling  not 
only  the  comparatively  harmless  lies  that  we  know  we 
ought  not  to  tell,  but  the  ruinous  lies  that  we  foolishly 
think  we  ought  to  tell. 


OVERRULED. 

A  lady  and  gentleman  are  sitting  together  on  a  ches- 
terfield in  a  retired  corner  of  the  lounge  of  a  seaside  hotel. 
It  is  a  summer  night:  the  French  window  behind  them 
stands  open.  The  terrace  without  overlooks  a  moonlit 
harbor.  The  lounge  is  dark.  The  chesterfield,  uphol- 
stered in  silver  grey,  and  the  two  figures  on  it  in  evening 
dress,  catch  the  light  froin  an  arc  lamp  somewhere ;  but 
the  walls,  covered  with  a  dark  green  paper,  are  in  gloom. 
There  are  two  stray  chairs,  one  on  each  side.  On  the 
gentleman's  right,  behind  him  up  near  the  window,  is  an 
unused  fireplace.  Opposite  it  on  the  lady's  left  is  a  door. 
The  gentleman  is  on  the  lady's  right. 

The  lady  is  very  attractive,  with  a  musical  voice  and 
soft  appealing  manners.  She  is  young:  that  is,  one  feels 
sure  that  she  is  under  thirty-five  and  over  twenty-four. 
The  gentleman  does  not  look  much  older.  He  is  rather 
handsome,  and  has  ventured  as  far  in  the  direction  of 
poetic  dandyism  in  the  arrangement  of  his  hair  as  any 
man  who  is  not  a  professional  artist  can  afford  to  in  Eng- 
land. He  is  obviously  very  much  in  love  with  the  lady, 
and  is,  in  fact,  yielding  to  an  irresistible  impulse  to  throw 
his  arms  around  her. 

The  Lady.  Dont — oh  dont  be  horrid.  Please,  Mr. 
Lunn  [she  rises  from  the  lounge  and  retreats  behind  it]  ! 
Promise  me  you  won't  be  horrid. 

Gregory  Lunn.  I'm  not  being  horrid,  Mrs.  Juno. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  horrid.  I  love  you:  thats  all.  I'm 
extraordinarily^  happy. 

78 


Overruled  79 

Mrs.  Juno.     You  will  really  be  good? 

Gregory.  I'll  be  wliatever  you  wish  me  to  be.  I  tell 
you  I  love  you.  I  love  loving  you.  I  dont  want  to  be 
tired  and  sorry,  as  I  should  be  if  I  were  to  be  horrid.  I 
dont  want  you  to  be  tired  and  sorry.  Do  come  and  sit 
down  again. 

Mrs.  Juno  [coming  back  to  her  seat^.  Youre  sure 
you  dont  want  anything  you  oughtnt  to.'' 

Gregory.  Quite  sure.  I  only  want  you  [she  recoils], 
Dont  be  alarmed.  I  like  wanting  you.  As  long  as  I 
have  a  want,  I  have  a  reason  for  living.  Satisfaction  is 
death. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Yes;  but  the  impulse  to  commit  suicide 
is  sometimes  irresistible. 

Gregory.     Not  with  you. 

Mrs.  Juno.     What! 

Gregory.  Oh,  it  sounds  uncomplimentary;  but  it  isnt 
really.  Do  you  know  why  half  the  couples  who  find 
themselves  situated  as  we  are  now  behave  horridly.'' 

Mrs.  Juno.  Because  they  cant  help  it  if  they  let 
tilings  go  too  far. 

Gregory.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It's  because  they  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  no  other  way  of  entertaining  each 
other.  You  dont  know  what  it  is  to  be  alone  with  a  wo- 
man who  has  little  beauty  and  less  conversation.  What 
is  a  man  to  do?  She  cant  talk  interestingly;  and  if  he 
talks  that  way  himself  she  doesnt  understand  him.  He 
cant  look  at  her:  if  he  does,  he  only  finds  out  that  she 
isnt  beautiful.  Before  the  end  of  five  minutes  they  are 
both  hideously  bored.  Theres  only  one  thing  that  can 
save  the  situation ;  and  thats  what  you  call  being  horrid. 
With  a  beautiful,  witty,  kind  woman,  theres  no  time  for 
such  follies.  It's  so  delightful  to  look  at  her,  to  listen  to 
her  voice,  to  hear  all  she  has  to  say,  that  nothing  else 
happens.     That  is  why  the  woman  who  is  supposed  to 


80  Overruled 

have  a  thousand  lovers  seldom  has  one ;  whilst  the  stupid, 
graceless  animals  of  women  have  dozens. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  wonder !  It's  quite  true  that  when  one 
feels  in  danger  one  talks  like  mad  to  stave  it  off,  even 
when  one  doesnt  quite  want  to  stave  it  off. 

Gregory.  One  never  does  quite  want  to  stave  it  off. 
Danger  is  delicious.  But  death  isnt.  We  court  the 
danger ;  but  the  real  delight  is  in  escaping,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  dont  think  we'll  talk  about  it  any  more. 
Danger  is  all  very  well  when  you  do  escape;  but  some- 
times one  doesnt.  I  tell  you  franky  I  dont  feel  as  safe 
as  you  do — if,  you  really  do. 

Gregory.  But  surely  you  can  do  as  you  please  with- 
out injuring  anyone,  Mrs.  Juno.  That  is  the  whole  secret 
of  your  extraordinary  charm  for  me. 

Mrs.  Juno.     I  dont  understand. 

Gregory.  Well,  I  hardly  know  how  to  begin  to  ex- 
plain. But  the  root  of  the  matter  is  that  I  am  what  peo- 
ple call  a  good  man. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  thought  so  until  you  began  making  love 
to  me. 

Gregory.     But  you  knew  I  loved  you  all  along. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Yes,  of  course;  but  I  depended  on  you 
not  to  tell  me  so ;  because  I  thought  you  were  good.  Your 
blurting  it  out  spoilt  it.     And  it  was  wicked  besides. 

Gregory.  Not  at  all.  You  see,  it's  a  great  many 
years  since  Ive  been  able  to  allow  myself  to  fall  in  love. 
I  know  lots  of  charming  women;  but  the  worst  of  it  is, 
theyre  all  married.  Women  dont  become  charming,  to 
my  taste,  until  theyre  fully  developed ;  and  by  that  time, 
if  theyre  really  nice,  theyre  snapped  up  and  married. 
And  then,  because  I  am  a  good  man,  I  have  to  place  a 
limit  to  my  regard  for  them.  I  may  be  fortunate  enough 
to  gain  friendship  and  even  very  warm  affection  from 
them;  but  my  loyalty  to  their  husbands  and  their  hearths 
and  their  happiness  obliges  me  to  draw  a  line  and  not 


Overruled  81 

overstep  it.  Of  course  I  value  such  affectionate  regard 
very  highly  indeed.  I  am  surrounded  with  women  who 
are  most  dear  to  me.  But  every  one  of  them  has  a 
post  sticking  up,  if  I  may  put  it  that  way,  with  the 
inscription:  Trespassers  Will  Be  Prosecuted.  How  we 
all  loathe  that  notice !  In  every  lovely  garden,  in  every 
dell  full  of  primroses,  on  every  fair  hillside,  we  meet  that 
confounded  board;  and  there  is  always  a  gamekeeper 
round  the  corner.  But  what  is  that  to  the  horror  of  meet- 
ing it  on  every  beautiful  woman,  and  knowing  that  there 
is  a  husband  round  the  corner?  I  have  had  this  accursed 
board  standing  between  me  and  every  dear  and  desirable 
woman  until  I  thought  I  had  lost  the  power  of  letting 
myself  fall  really  and  wholeheartedly  in  love. 

Mrs.  Juno.     Wasnt  there  a  widow? 

Gregory.  No.  Widows  are  extraordinarily  scarce  in 
modern  society.  Husbands  live  longer  than  they  used  to ; 
and  even  when  they  do  die,  their  widows  have  a  string  of 
names  down  for  their  next. 

Mrs.  Juno.     Well,  what  about  the  young  girls  ? 

Gregory.  Oh,  who  cares  for  young  girls?  Theyre 
sympathetic.  Theyre  beginners.  They  dont  attract 
me.     I'm  afraid  of  them. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Thats  the  correct  thing  to  say  to  a  wo- 
man of  my  age.  But  it  doesnt  explain  why  you  seem  to 
have  put  your  scruples  in  your  pocket  when  you  met  me. 

Gregory.     Surely  thats  quite  clear.     I — 

Mrs.  Juno.  No:  please  dont  explain.  I  dont  want 
to  know.  I  take  your  word  for  it.  Besides,  it  doesnt 
matter  now.  Our  voyage  is  over;  and  to-morrow  I  start 
for  the  north  to  my  poor   father's  place. 

Gregory  [surprised].  Your  poor  father!  I  thought 
he  was  alive. 

Mrs.  Juno.  So  he  is.  What  made  you  think  he 
wasnt  ? 

Gregory.     You  said  your  poor  father. 
14 


82  OvejTuled 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh,  thats  a  trick  of  mine.  Rather  a  silly 
trick,  I  suppose;  but  theres  something  pathetic  to  me 
about  men:  I  find  myself  calling  them  poor  So-and-So 
when  theres  nothing  whatever  the  matter  with  them. 

Gregory  [who  has  listened  in  gnotving  alarm].  But — 
I — is.'' — wa — ?     Oh,  Lord! 

Mrs.  Juno.    Whats  the  matter? 

Gregory.      Nothing. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Nothing!  [Rising  anxiously].  Nonsense: 
youre  ill. 

Gregory.  No.  It  was  something  about  your  late 
husband — 

Mrs.  Juno.  My  late  husband !  What  do  you  mean  ? 
[clutching  him,  horror-stricken].  Dont  tell  me  he's 
dead. 

Gregory  [rising,  equally  appalled].  Dont  tell  me 
he's  alive. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh,  dont  frighten  me  like  this.  Of 
course  he's  alive — unless  youve  heard  anything. 

Gregory.  The  first  day  we  met — on  the  boat — you 
spoke  to  me  of  your  poor  dear  husband. 

Mrs.  Juno  [releasing  him,  quite  reassured].  Is  that 
all? 

Gregory.  Well,  afterwards  you  called  him  poor  Tops. 
Always  poor  Tops,  or  poor  dear  Tops.  What  could  I 
think? 

Mrs.  Juno  [sitting  down  again].  I  wish  you  hadnt 
given  me  such  a  shock  about  him ;  for  I  havent  been  treat- 
ing him  at  all  well.     Neither  have  you. 

Gregory  [relapsing  into  his  seat,  overwhelmed].  And 
you  mean  to  tell  me  youre  not  a  widow ! 

Mrs.  Juno.     Gracious,  no!     I'm  not  in  black. 

Gregory.  Then  I  have  been  behaving  like  a  black- 
guard. I  have  broken  my  promise  to  my  mother.  I  shall 
never  have  an  easy  conscience  again. 

Mrs.  Juno.     I'm  sorry.     I  thought  you  knew. 


Overruled  83 

Gregory.     You  thought  I  was  a  libertine  ? 

Mrs.  Juno.  No:  of  course  I  shouldnt  have  spoken 
to  you  if  I  had  thought  that.  I  thought  you  liked  me, 
but  that  you  knew,  and  would  be  good. 

Gregory  [stretching  his  hands  towards  her  breast]. 
I  thought  the  burden  of  being  good  had  fallen  from  my 
soul  at  last.  I  saw  nothing  there  but  a  bosom  to  rest  on : 
the  bosom  of  a  lovely  woman  of  whom  I  could  dream  with- 
out guilt.     What  do  I  see  now.'' 

Mrs.  Juno.     Just  what  you  saw  before. 

Gregory  [despairingly].    No,  no. 

Mrs.  Juno.     What  else? 

Gregory.  Trespassers  Will  Be  Prosecuted:  Tres- 
passers Will  Be  Prosecuted. 

Mrs.  Juno.  They  wont  if  they  hold  their  tongues. 
Dont  be  such  a  coward.     My  husband  wont  eat  you. 

Gregory.  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  husband.  I'm 
afraid  of  my  conscience. 

Mrs.  Juno  [losing  patience].  Well!  I  don't  consider 
myself  at  all  a  badly  behaved  woman;  for  nothing  has 
passed  between  us  that  was  not  perfectly  nice  and 
friendly ;  but  really !  to  hear  a  grown-up  man  talking 
about  promises  to  his  mother ! — 

Gregory  [interrupting  her].  Yes,  yes:  I  know  all 
about  that.  It's  not  romantic:  it's  not  Don  Juan:  it's  not 
advanced ;  but  we  feel  it  all  the  same.  It's  far  deeper  in 
our  blood  and  bones  than  all  the  romantic  stuff.  My 
father  got  into  a  scandal  once:  that  was  why  my  mother 
made  me  promise  never  to  make  love  to  a  married  woman. 
And  now  Ive  done  it  I  cant  feel  honest.  Dont  pretend 
to  despise  me  or  laugh  at  me.  You  feel  it  too.  You  said 
just  now  that  your  own  conscience  was  imeasy  when  you 
thought  of  your  husband.  What  must  it  be  when  you 
think  of  my  wife? 

Mrs.    Juno    [rising   aghast].     Your    wife!  !  !     You 


84  Overruled 

dont  dare  sit  there  and  tell  me  coolly  that  youre  a  mar- 
ried man ! 

Gregory.    I  never  led  you  to  believe  I  was  unmarried. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh !  You  never  gave  me  the  faintest  hint 
that  you  had  a  wife. 

Gregory.  I  did  indeed.  I  discussed  things  with  you 
that  only  married  people  really  understand. 

Mrs.  Juno.    Oh!! 

Gregory.  I  thought  it  the  most  delicate  way  of  let- 
ting you  know. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Well,  you  area  daisy,  I  must  say.  I 
suppose  thats  vulgar ;  but  really !  really ! !  You  and  your 
goodness !  However,  now  weve  found  one  another  out 
theres  only  one  thing  to  be  done.     Will  you  please  go? 

Gregory  [rising  slowly].     I  ought  to  go. 

Mrs.  Juno.     Well,  go. 

Gregory.  Yes.  Er — [he  tries  to  go].  I — I  some- 
how cant.  [He  sits  down  again  helplessly].  My  con- 
science is  active:  my  will  is  paralyzed.  This  is  really 
dreadful.  Would  you  mind  ringing  the  bell  and  asking 
them  to  throw  me  out?    You  ought  to,  you  know. 

Mrs.  Juno.  What !  make  a  scandal  in  the  face  of  the 
whole  hotel !     Certainly  not.     Dont  be  a  fool. 

Gregory.    Yes;  but  I  cant  go. 

Mrs.  Juno.     Then  I  can.     Goodbye. 

Gregory  [clinging  to  her  hand].     Can  you  really? 

Mrs.  Juno.  Of  course  I — [she  wavers].  Oh,  dear! 
[They  contemplate  one  another  helplessly].  I  cant. 
[She  sinks  on  the  lounge,  hand  in  hand  with  him] . 

Gregory.  For  heaven's  sake  pull  yourself  together. 
It's  a  question  of  self-control. 

Mrs.  Juno  [dragging  her  hand  away  and  retreating  to 
the  end  of  the  chesterfield].  No:  it's  a  question  of  dis- 
tance. Self-control  is  all  very  well  two  or  three  yards 
off,  or  on  a  ship,  with  everybody  looking  on.  Dont  come 
any  nearer. 


Overruled  85 

Gregory.  This  is  a  ghastly  business.  I  want  to  go 
away;  and  I  cant. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  think  you  ought  to  go  [he  makes  an 
effort;  and  she  adds  quickly]  but  if  you  try  I  shall  grab 
you  round  the  neck  and  disgrace  myself.  I  implore  you 
to  sit  still  and  be  nice. 

Gregory.  I  implore  you  to  run  away.  I  believe  I 
can  trust  myself  to  let  you  go  for  your  own  sake.  But 
it  will  break  my  heart. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  dont  want  to  break  your  heart.  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  your  sitting  here  alone.  I  cant 
bear  to  think  of  sitting  alone  myself  somewhere  else. 
It's  so  senseless — so  ridiculous — when  we  might  be  so 
happy.  I  dont  want  to  be  wicked,  or  coarse.  But  I 
like  you  very  much;  and  I  dp  want  to  be  affectionate 
and  human. 

Gregory.     I  ought  to  draw  a  line. 

Mrs.  Juno.  So  you  shall,  dear.  Tell  me:  do  you 
really  like  me  ?  I  dont  mean  love  me :  you  might  love 
the  housemaid — 

Gregory  [vehemently].     No! 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh,  yes  you  might;  and  what  does  that 
matter,  anyhow?  Are  you  really  fond  of  me?  Are  we 
friends — comrades?     Would  you  be  sorry  if  I  died? 

Gregory  [shrinking].     Oh,  dont. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Or  was  it  the  usual  aimless  man's  lark: 
a  mere  shipboard   flirtation? 

Gregory.  .Oh,  no,  no:  nothing  half  so  bad,  so  vulgar, 
so  wrong.  I  assure  you  I  only  meant  to  be  agreeable. 
It  grew  on  me  before  I  noticed  it. 

Mrs.  Juno.     And  you  were  glad  to  let  it  grow? 

Gregory.     I  let  it  grow  because  the  board  was  not  up. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Bother  the  board!  I  am  just  as  fond 
of   Sibthorpe  as — 

Gregory.     Sibthorpe ! 


86  Overruled 

Mrs.  Juno.  Sibthorpe  is  my  husband's  Christian 
name.     I  oughtnt  to  call  him  Tops  to  you  now. 

Gregory  [chuckling^.  It  sounded  like  something  to 
drink.  But  I  have  no  right  to  laugh  at  him.  My  Chris- 
tian name  is  Gregory,  which  sounds  like  a  powder. 

Mrs.  Juno  [chilled].  That  is  so  like  a  man!  I  offer 
you  my  heart's  warmest  friendliest  feeling;  and  you  think 
of  nothing  but  a  silly  joke.  A  quip  like  that  makes  you 
forget  me. 

Gregory.     Forget  you!     Oh,  if  I  only  could! 

Mrs.  Juno.     If  you  could,  would  you? 

Gregory  [burying  his  shamed  face  in  his  hands]. 
No:  I'd  die  first.     Oh,  I  hate  myself. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  glory  in  myself.  It's  so  jolly  to  be 
reckless.     C  a  n  a  man  be  reckless,  I  wonder. 

Gregory  [straightening  himself  desperately].  No. 
I'm  not  reckless.  I  know  what  I'm  doing:  my  conscience 
is  awake.  Oh,  where  is  the  intoxication  of  love?  the 
delirium?  the  madness  that  makes  a  man  think  the  world 
well  lost  for  the  woman  he  adores?  I  dont  think  any- 
thing of  the  sort:  I  see  that  it's  not  worth  it:  I  know  that 
it's  wrong:  I  have  never  in  my  life  been  cooler,  more 
businesslike. 

Mrs.  Juno  [opening  her  arms  to  him]  But  you  cant 
resist  me. 

Gregory.  I  must.  I  ought  [throwing  himself  into 
her  arms].  Oh,  my  darling,  my  treasure,  we  shall  be 
sorry   for  this. 

Mrs.  Juno.  We  can  forgive  ourselves.  Could  we  for- 
give ourselves  if  we  let  this  moment  slip  ? 

Gregory.  I  protest  to  the  last.  I'm  against  this.  I 
have  been  pushed  over  a  precipice.  I'm  innocent.  This 
wild  joy,  this  exquisite  tenderness,  this  ascent  into  heaven 
can  thrill  me  to  the  uttermost  fibre  of  my  heart  [with 
a  gesture  of  ecstasy  she  hides  her  face  on  his  shoulder]  ; 
but  it  cant  subdue  my  mind  or  corrupt  my  conscience. 


Overruled  87 

which  still  shouts  to  the  skies  that  I'm  not  a  willing  party 
to  this  outrageous  conduct.  I  repudiate  the  bliss  with 
which  you  are  filling  me. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Never  mind  your  conscience.  Tell  me 
how  happy  you  are. 

Gregory.  No:  I  recall  you  to  your  duty.  But  oh,  I 
will  give  you  my  life  with  both  hands  if  you  can  tell  me 
that  you  feel  for  me  one  millionth  part  of  what  I  feel  for 
you  now. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh,  yes,  yes.  Be  satisfied  with  that. 
Ask  for  no  more.    Let  me  go. 

Gregory.  I  cant.  I  have  no  will.  Something  stronger 
than  either  of  us  is  in  command  here.  Nothing  on  earth 
or  in  heaven  can  part  us  now.     You  know  that,  dont  you? 

Mrs.  Juno.  Oh,  dont  make  me  say  it.  Of  course  I 
know.  Nothing — not  life  nor  death  nor  shame  nor 
anything  can  part  us. 

A  Matter-of-fact  Male  Voice  in  the  Corridor. 
All  right.     This  must  be  it. 

The  two  recover  with  a  violent  start;  release  one 
another;  and  spring  back  to  opposite  sides  of  the  lounge. 

Gregory.     That  did  it. 

Mrs.  Juno  [in  a  thrilling  whisper]  Sh-sh-sh !  That 
was  my  husband's  voice. 

Gregory.     Impossible:  it's  only  our  guilty  fancy. 
.  A  Woman's  Voice.     This  is  the  way  to  the  lounge.     I 
know  it. 

Gregory.  Great  Heaven !  were  both  mad.  Thats  my 
wife's  voice. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Ridiculous !  Oh !  were  dreaming  it  all. 
We — [the  door  opens;  and  Sibthorpe  Juno  appears  in  the 
roseate  glow  of  the  corridor  (which  happens  to  be  papered 
in  pink)  with  Mrs.  Liinn,  like  Tannhduser  in  the  hill 
of  Venus.  He  is  a  fussily  energetic  little  man,  who  gives 
himself  an  air  of  gallantry  by  greasing  the  points  of  his 
moustaches  and  dressing  very  carefully.     She  is  a  tall. 


88  Overruled 

imposing,  handsome,  languid  woman,  with  flashing  dark 
eyes  and  long  lashes.  They  make  for  the  chesterfield, 
not  noticing  the  two  palpitating  figures  blotted  against 
the  walls  in  the  gloom  on  either  side.  The  figures  flit 
away  noiselessly  through  the  window  and  disappear^. 

Juno  [officiously^  Ah:  here  we  are.  \He  leads  the 
way  to  the  sofa\.  Sit  down:  I'm  sure  youre  tired.  [She 
sits^.  Thats  right.  [He  sits  beside  her  on  her  left\. 
Hullo!  [he  rises^   this  sofa's  quite  warm. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [bored^  Is  it?  I  dont  notice  it.  I  expect 
the  sun's  been  on  it. 

Juno.  I  felt  it  quite  distinctly:  I'm  more  thinly  clad 
than  you.  [He  sits  down  again,  and  proceeds,  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction] .  What  a  relief  to  get  off  the  ship  and 
have  a  private  room !  Thats  the  worst  of  a  ship.  Youre 
under  observation  all  the  time. 

Mrs.  Lunn.     But  why  not? 

Juno.  Well,  of  course  theres  no  reason :  at  least  I  sup- 
pose not.  But,  you  know,  part  of  the  romance  of  a  jour- 
ney is  that  a  man  keeps  imagining  that  something  might 
happen ;  and  he  cant  do  that  if  there  are  a  lot  of  people 
about  and  it  simply  cant  happen. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Mr.  Juno:  romance  is  all  very  well  on 
board  ship;  but  when  your  foot  touches  the  soil  of  Eng- 
land theres  an  end  of  it. 

Juno.  No:  believe  me,  thats  a  foreigner's  mistake: 
we  are  the  most  romantic  people  in  the  world,  we  Eng- 
lish. Why,  my  very  presence  here  is  a  romance. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [faintly  ironical]     Indeed? 

Juno.  Yes.  Youve  guessed,  of  course,  that  I'm  a 
married  man. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Oh,  thats  all  right.   I'm  a  married  woman. 

Juno.  Thank  Heaven  for  that!  To  my  English 
mind,  passion  is  not  real  passion  without  guilt.  I  am  a 
red-blooded  man,  Mrs.  Lunn :  I  cant  help  it.  The  tragedy 
of  my  life  is  that  I  married,  when  quite  young,  a  woman 


Overruled  89 

whom  I  coiildnt  help  being  very  fond  of.  I  longed  for  a 
guilty  passion — for  the  real  thing — the  wicked  thing;  and 
yet  I  couldnt  care  twopence  for  any  other  woman  when 
my  wife  was  about.  Year  after  year  went  by:  I  felt 
my  youth  slipping  away  without  ever  having  had  a  ro- 
mance in  my  life ;  for  marriage  is  all  very  well ;  but  it  isnt 
romance.     Theres  nothing  wrong  in  it,  you  see. 

Mrs.  Lunn.     Poor  man  !  How  you  must  have  suffered  ! 

Juno.  No:  that  was  what  was  so  tame  about  it.  I 
wanted  to  suffer.  You  get  so  sick  of  being  happily  mar- 
ried. It's  always  the  happy  marriages  that  break  up. 
At  last  my  wife  and  I  agreed  that  we  ought  to  take  a 
holiday. 

Mrs.  Lunn.     Hadnt  you  holidays  every  year? 

Juno.  Oh,  the  seaside  and  so  on !  Thats  not  what  we 
meant.     We  meant  a  holiday  from  one  another. 

Mrs.  Lunn.     How  very  odd ! 

Juno.  She  said  it  was  an  excellent  idea ;  that  domestic 
felicity  was  making  us  perfectly  idiotic;  that  she  wanted 
a  holiday,  too.  So  we  agreed  to  go  round  the  world  in 
opposite  directions.  I  started  for  Suez  on  the  day  she 
sailed  for  New  York. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [suddenly  becoming  attentive^  Thats  pre- 
cisely what  Gregory  and  I  did.  Now  I  wonder  did  he 
want  a  holiday  from  me  !  What  he  said  was  that  he  want- 
ed the  delight  of  meeting  mc  after  a  long  absence. 

Juno.  Could  anything  be  more  romantic  than  that? 
Would  anyone  else  than  an  Englishman  have  thought  of 
it?  I  daresay  my  temperament  seems  tame  to  your  boil- 
ing southern  blood — 

Mrs.  Lunn,  My  what! 

Juno,  Your  southern  blood.  Dont  you  remember  how 
you  told  me,  that  night  in  the  saloon  when  I  sang  "Fare- 
well and  adieu  to  you  dear  Spanish  ladies,"  that  you  were 
by  birth  a  lady  of  Spain?  Your  splendid  Andalusian 
beauty  speaks  for  itself. 


90  Overruled 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Stuff!  I  was  born  in  Gibraltar.  My 
father  was  Captain  Jenkins.     In  the  artillery. 

Juno  [ardently]  It  is  climate  and  not  race  that  deter- 
mines the  temperament.  The  fiery  sun  of  Spain  blazed 
on  your  cradle;  and  it  rocked  to  the  roar  of  British  can- 
non. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  What  eloquence !  It  reminds  me  of  my 
husband  when  he  was  in  love — before  we  were  married. 
Are  you  in  love? 

Juno.  Yes;  and  with  the  same  woman. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Well,  of  course,  I  didnt  suppose  you 
were  in  love  with  two  women. 

Juno.  I  dont  think  you  quite  understand.  I  meant 
that  I  am  in  love  with  you. 

Mrs,  Lunn  [relapsing  into  deepest  boredom]  Oh, 
that !  Men  do  fall  in  love  with  me.  They  all  seem  to 
think  me  a  creature  with  volcanic  passions:  I'm  sure  I 
dont  know  why;  for  all  the  volcanic  women  I  know  are 
plain  little  creatures  with  sandy  hair.  I  dont  consider 
human  volcanoes  respectable.  And  I'm  so  tired  of  the 
subject!  Our  house  is  always  full  of  women  who  are  in 
love  with  my  husband  and  men  who  are  in  love  with 
me.  We  encourage  it  because  it's  pleasant  to  have  com- 
pany. 

Juno.  And  is  your  husband  as  insensible  as  yourself? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Oh,  Gregory's  not  insensible:  very  far 
from  it;  but  I  am  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  him. 

Juno.  But  you?  Are  you  really  as  insensible  as  you 
say  you  are? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind.  I'm 
not  at  all  insensible  by  nature;  but  (I  dont  know  whether 
youve  noticed  it)  I  am  what  people  call  rather  a  fine 
figure  of  a  woman. 

Juno  [passionately]  Noticed  it!  Oh,  Mrs.  Limn!  Have 
I  been  able  to  notice  anything  else  since  we  met? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  There  you  go,  like  all  the  rest  of  them! 


Overruled  91 

I  ask  you,  how  do  you  expect  a  woman  to  keep  up  what 
you  call  her  sensibility  when  this  sort  of  thing  has  hap- 
pened to  her  about  three  times  a  week  ever  since  she  was 
seventeen?  It  used  to  upset  me  and  terrify  me  at  first. 
Then  I  got  rather  a  taste  for  it.  It  came  to  a  climax  with 
Gregory:  that  was  why  I  married  him.  Then  it  became 
a  mild  lark,  hardly  worth  the  trouble.  After  that  I  found 
it  valuable  once  or  twice  as  a  spinal  tonic  when  I  was 
run  down ;  but  now  it's  an  unmitigated  bore.  I  dont  mind 
your  declaration:  I  daresay  it  gives  you  a  certain  pleas- 
ure to  make  it.  I  quite  understand  that  you  adore  me; 
but  (if  you  dont  mind)  I'd  rather  you  didnt  keep  on  say- 
ing so. 

Juno.  Is  there  then  no  hope  for  me? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Oh,  yes.  Gregory  has  an  idea  that  mar- 
ried women  keep  lists  of  the  men  theyll  marry  if  they 
become  widows.  I'll  put  your  name  down,  if  that  will 
satisfy  you. 

Juno.     Is  the  list  a  long  one? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Do  you  mean  the  real  list?  Not  the  one 
I  shew  to  Gregory:  there  are  hundreds  of  names  on  that; 
but  the  little  private  list  that  he'd  better  not  see? 

Juno.  Oh,  will  you  really  put  me  on  that?  Say  you 
will. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Well,  perhaps  I  will.  [He  kisses  her 
hand].     Now  dont  begin  abusing  the  privilege. 

Juno.     May  I  call  you  by  your  Christian  name? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  No:  it's  too  long.  You  cant  go  about 
calling  a  woman  Seraphita. 

Juno  [ecstatically]  Seraphita! 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  used  to  be  called  Sally  at  home;  but 
when  I  married  a  man  named  Lunn,  of  course  that  be- 
came ridiculous.  Thats  my  one  little  pet  joke.  Call  me 
Mrs.  Lunn  for  short.  And  change  the  subject,  or  I  shall 
go  to  sleep. 

Juno,  I  cant  change  the  subject.  For  me  there  is  no 


92  Overruled 

other  subject.  Why  else  have  you  put  me  on  your 
list? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Because  youre  a  solicitor.  Gregory's  a 
solicitor.  I'm  accustomed  to  my  husband  being  a  solic- 
itor and  telling  me  things  he  oughtnt  to  tell  anybody. 

Juno  [ruefully]  Is  that  all?  Oh,  I  cant  believe  that 
the  voice  of  love  has  ever  thoroughly  awakened  you. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  No  :  it  sends  me  to  sleep.  [Juno  appeals 
against  this  by  an  amorous  demonstration].  It's  no  use, 
Mr.  Juno:  I'm  hopelessly  respectable:  the  Jenkinses  al- 
ways were.  Dont  you  realize  that  unless  most  women 
were  like  that,  the  world  couldnt  go  on  as  it  does? 

Juno  [darkly]  You  think  it  goes  on  respectably;  but 
I  can  tell  you  as  a  solicitor — 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Stuff!  of  course  all  the  disreputable  peo- 
ple who  get  into  trouble  go  to  you,  just  as  all  the  sick 
people  go  to  the  doctors;  but  most  people  never  go  to 
a  solicitor. 

Juno  [rising,  with  a  growing  sense  of  injury]  Look 
here,  Mrs.  Lunn:  do  you  think  a  man's  heart  is  a  potato? 
or  a  turnip?  or  a  ball  of  knitting  wool?  that  you  can 
throw  it  away  like  this? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  dont  throw  away  balls  of  knitting  wool. 
A  man's  heart  seems  to  me  much  like  a  sponge:  it  sops 
up  dirty  water  as  well  as  clean. 

Juno.  I  have  never  been  treated  like  this  in  my  life. 
Here  am  I,  a  married  man,  with  a  most  attractive  wife: 
a  wife  I  adore,  and  who  adores  me,  and  has  never  as 
much  as  looked  at  any  other  man  since  we  were  married. 
I  come  and  throw  all  this  at  your  feet.  I !  I,  a  solicitor ! 
braving  the  risk  of  your  husband  putting  me  into  the 
divorce  court  and  making  me  a  beggar  and  an  outcast! 
I  do  this  for  your  sake.  And  you  go  on  as  if  I  were 
making  no  sacrifice:  as  if  I  had  told  you  it's  a  fine  eve- 
ning, or  asked  you  to  have  a  cup  of  tea.    It's  not  human. 


Overruled  93 

It's  not  right.  Love  has  its  rights  as  well  as  respect- 
ability [he  sits  down  again,  aloof  and  sulky^. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Nonsense !  Here^  heres  a  flower  [she 
gives  him  one].  Go  and  dream  over  it  until  you  feel 
hungry.  Nothing  brings  people  to  their  senses  like  hun- 
ger. 

Juno  [contemplating  the  flower  without  rapture'\ 
What  good's  this? 

Mrs.  Lunn  [snatching  it  from  him'\  Oh !  you  dont  love 
me  a  bit. 

Juno.  Yes  I  do.  Or  at  least  I  did.  But  I'm  an  Eng- 
lishman; and  I  think  you  ought  to  respect  the  conven- 
tions of  English  life. 

Mrs.  Juno.  But  I  am  respecting  them;  and  youre 
not. 

Juno.  Pardon  me.  I  may  be  doing  wrong;  but  I'm 
doing  it  in  a  proper  and  customary  manner.  You  may 
be  doing  right;  but  youre  doing  it  in  an  unusual  and 
questionable  manner.  I  am  not  prepared  to  put  up  with 
that.  I  can  stand  being  badly  treated:  I'm  no  baby,  and 
can  take  care  of  myself  with  anybody.  And  of  course 
I  can  stand  being  well  treated.  But  the  thing  I  cant 
stand  is  being  unexpectedly  treated.  It's  outside  my 
scheme  of  life.  So  come  now!  youve  got  to  behave  nat- 
urally and  straightforwardly  with  me.  You  can  leave 
husband  and  child,  home,  friends,  and  country,  for  my 
sake,  and  come  with  me  to  some  southern  isle — or  say 
South  America — where  we  can  be  all  in  all  to  one  an- 
other. Or  you  can  tell  your  husband  and  let  him  jolly 
well  punch  my  head  if  he  can.  But  I'm  damned  if  I'm 
going  to  stand   any   eccentricity.      It's   not  respectable. 

Gregory  [coming  in  from  the  terrace  and  advancing 
with  dignity  to  his  wife's  end  of  the  chesterfield^.  Will 
you  have  the  goodness,  sir,  in  addressing  this  lady,  to 
keep  your  temper  and  refrain  from  using  profane  lan- 
guage ? 


94  Overruled 

Mrs.  Lunn  [rising,  delighted]  Gregory!  Darling 
[she  enfolds  him  in  a  copious  embrace]  ! 

Juno  [rising]  You  make  love  to  another  man  to  my 
face! 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Why,  he's  my  husband. 

Juno.  That  takes  away  the  last  rag  of  excuse  for  such 
conduct.  A  nice  world  it  would  be  if  married  people 
were  to  carry  on  their  endearments   before  everybody ! 

Gregory.  This  is  ridiculous.  What  the  devil  business 
is  it  of  yours  what  passes  between  my  wife  and  myself.'' 
Youre  not  her  husband,  are  you.'' 

Juno.  Not  at  present;  but  I'm  on  the  list.  I'm  her 
prospective  husband:  youre  only  her  actual  one.  I'm 
the  anticipation:  youre  the  disappointment. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Oh,  my  Gregory  is  not  a  disappoint- 
ment.     [Fondly]      Are  you,  dear.'* 

Gregory.  You  just  wait,  my  pet.  I'll  settle  this  chap 
for  you.  [He  disengages  himself  from  her  embrace,  and 
faces  Juno.  She  sits  down  placidly].  You  call  me  a  dis- 
appointment, do  you?  Well,  I  suppose  every  husband's 
a  disappointment.  What  about  yourself.''  Dont  try  to 
look  like  an  unmarried  man.  I  happen  to  know  the  lady 
you  disappointed.  I  travelled  in  the  same  ship  with  her ; 
and — 

Juno.  And  you  fell  in  love  with  her. 

Gregory  [taken  aback]  Who  told  you  that? 

Juno.  Aha !  you  confess  it.  Well,  if  you  want  to 
know,  nobody  told  me.  Everybody  falls  in  love  with 
my  wife. 

Gregory.  And  do  you  fall  in  love  with  everybody's 
wife? 

Juno.  Certainly  not.  Only  with  yours. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  But  whats  the  good  of  saying  that,  Mr. 
Juno?   I'm   married   to   him;   and  theres   an   end   of  it. 

Juno.  Not  at  all.     You  can  get  a  divorce. 

Mrs.  Lunn.    What  for? 


Overruled  95 

Juno.  For  his  misconduct  with  my  wife. 

Gregory  [deeply  indignant]  How  dare  you,  sir,  as- 
perse the  character  of  that  sweet  lady.''  a  lady  whom  I 
have  taken  under  my  protection. 

Juno.     Protection ! 

Mrs.  Juno  [returning  hastily]  Really  you  must  be 
more  careful  what  you  say  about  me,  Mr.  Lunn. 

Juno.  My  precious!  [He  embraces  her].  Pardon  this 
betrayal  of  my  feeling;  but  Ive  not  seen  my  wife  for 
several  weeks ;  and  she  is  very  dear  to  me. 

Gregory.  I  call  this  cheek.  Who  is  making  love  to 
his  own  wife  before  people  now,  pray.'' 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Wont  you  introduce  me  to  your  wife,  Mr. 
Juno? 

Mrs.  Juno.  How  do  you  do?  [They  shake  hands;  and 
Mrs.  Juno  sits  down  beside  Mrs.  Lunn,  on  her  left]. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  do  credit  to 
Gregory's  taste.  I'm  naturally  rather  particular  about 
the  women  he  falls  in  love  with. 

Juno  [sternly]  This  is  no  way  to  take  your  husband's 
tmfaithfulness.  [To  Lunn]  You  ought  to  teach  your 
wife  better.     Wheres  her  feelings?     It's  scandalous. 

Gregory.  What  about  your  own  conduct,  pray? 

Juno.  I  dont  defend  it;  and  theres  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter. 

Gregory.  Well,  upon  my  soul!  What  difference  does 
your  not  defending  it  make? 

Juno.  A  fundamental  difference.  To  serious  people  I 
may  appear  wicked.  I  dont  defend  myelf :  I  am  wicked, 
though  not  bad  at  heart.  To  thoughtless  people  I  may 
even  appear  comic.  Well,  laugh  at  me:  I  have  given 
myself  away.  But  Mrs.  Lunn  seems  to  have  no  opinion 
at  all  about  me.  She  doesnt  seem  to  know  whether  I'm 
wicked  or  comic.  She  doesnt  seem  to  care.  She  has  no 
more  sense.  I  say  it's  not  right.  I  repeat,  I  have  sinned ; 
and  I'm  prepared  to  suffer. 


96  Overruled 

Mrs.  Juno.  Have  you  really  sinned.  Tops? 

Mrs.  Lunn  [blandly]  I  dont  remember  your  sinning. 
I  have  a  shocking  bad  memory  for  trifles;  but  I  think 
I  should  remember  that — if  you  mean  me. 

Juno  [raging]  Trifles!  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  a 
monster. 

Gregory.  Dont  you  dare  call  my  wife  a  monster. 

Mrs.  Juno  [rising  quickly  and  coming  between  them]. 
Please  dont  lose  your  temper,  Mr.  Lunn:  I  wont  have 
my  Tops  bullied. 

Gregory.  Well,  then,  let  him  not  brag  about  sinning 
with  my  wife.  [He  turns  impulsively  to  his  rvife;  makes 
her  rise;  and  takes  her  proudly  on  his  arm].  What  pre- 
tension has  he  to  any  such  honor? 

Juno.  I  sinned  in  intention.  [Mrs.  Juno  abandons 
him  and  resumes  her  seat,  chilled].  I'm  as  guilty  as  if  I 
had  actually  sinned.  And  I  insist  on  being  treated  as  a 
sinner,  and  not  walked  over  as  if  I'd  done  nothing,  by 
your  wife  or  any  other  man. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Tush!  [She  sits  down  again  contemptu- 
ously]. 

Juno  [furious]  I  wont  be  belittled. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [to  Mrs.  Juno]  I  hope  youll  come  and 
stay  with  us  now  that  you  and  Gregory  are  such  friends, 
Mrs.  Juno. 

Juno.  This  insane  magnanimity — 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Dont  you  think  youve  said  enough,  Mr. 
Juno?  This  is  a  matter  for  two  women  to  settle.  Wont 
you  take  a  stroll  on  the  beach  with  my  Gregory  while 
we  talk  it  over.  Gregory  is  a  splendid  listener. 

Juno.  I  dont  think  any  good  can  come  of  a  conversa- 
tion between  Mr.  Lunn  and  myself.  We  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  improve  one  another's  morals.  [He  passes 
behind  the  chesterfield  to  Mrs.  Lunn's  end;  seizes  a  chair; 
deliberately  pushes  it  between  Gregory  and  Mrs.  Lunn; 
and  sits  down  with  folded  arms,  resolved  not  to  budge]. 


Overruled  97 

Gregory.  Oh !  Indeed !  Oh,  all  right.  If  you  come 
to  that — [he  crosses  to  Mrs.  Juno;  plants  a  chair  by  her 
side;  and  sits  down  with  equal  determinatioJi], 

Juno.   Now  we  are  both  equally  guilty. 

Gregory.  Pardon  me.  I'm  not  guilty. 

Juno.  In  intention.  Dont  quibble.  You  were  guilty 
in  intention,  as  I  was. 

Gregory.  No.  I  should  rather  describe  myself  as  being 
guilty  in  fact,  but  not  in  intention. 

Juno  1        rising  and       f  Wliat ! 

Mrs.  Juno     \       exclaiming      <  No,  really — 

Mrs.  Lunn  J   simultaneously  [  Gregory! 

Gregory.  Yes:  I  maintain  that  I  am  responsible  for 
my  intentions  only,  and  not  for  reflex  actions  over  which 
I  have  no  control.  [Mrs.  Juno  sits  down,  ashamed^.  I 
promised  my  mother  that  I  would  never  tell  a  lie,  and 
that  I  would  never  make  love  to  a  married  woman.  I 
never  have  told  a  lie — 

Mrs.  Lunn  [remonstrating~\  Gregory !  [^She  sits 
down  again^. 

Gregory.  I  say  never.  On  many  occasions  I  have  re- 
sorted to  prevarication;  but  on  great  occasions  I  have  al- 
ways told  the  truth.  I  regard  this  as  a  great  occasion ;  and 
I  wont  be  intimidated  into  breaking  my  promise.  I 
solemnly  declare  that  I  did  not  know  until  this  evening 
that  ]\Irs.  Juno  was  married.  She  will  bear  me  out  when 
I  say  that  from  that  moment  my  intentions  were  strictly 
and  resolutely  honorable;  though  my  conduct,  which  I 
could  not  control  and  am  therefore  not  responsible  for, 
was  disgraceful — or  would  have  been  had  this  gentleman 
not  walked  in  and  begun  making  love  to  my  wife  under 
my  very  nose. 

Juno  [flinging  himself  bach  into  his  chair^  Well,  I 
like  this ! 

Mrs.  Lunn.     Really,  darling,  theres  no  use  in  the  pot 
calling  the  kettle  black. 
15 


98  Overruled 

Gregory.  When  you  say  darling,  may  I  ask  which  of 

us  you  are  addressing? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  really  dont  know.  I'm  getting  hopelessly 
confused. 

Juno.  Why  don't  you  let  my  wife  say  something?  I 
dont  think  she  ought  to  be  thrust  into  the  backgroimd 
like  this. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I'm  sorry,  I'm  sure.  Please  excuse  me, 
dear. 

Mrs.  Juno  [thoughtfully]  I  dont  know  what  to  say. 
I  must  think  over  it.  I  have  always  been  rather  severe 
on  this  sort  of  thing;  but  when  it  came  to  the  point  I 
didnt  behave  as  I  thought  I  should  behave.  I  didnt  in- 
tend to  be  wicked;  but  somehow  or  other,  Nature,  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  it,  didnt  take  much  notice  of 
my  intentions.  [Gregory  instinctively  seeks  her  hand 
and  presses  it].  And  I  really  did  think.  Tops,  that  I  was 
the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  you. 

Juno  [cheerfully]  Oh,  thats  all  right,  my  precious. 
Mrs.  Lunn  thought  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  world 
for  him. 

Gregory  [reflectively]   So  she  is,  in  a  sort  of  a  way. 

Juno  [flaring  up]  And  so  is  my  wife.  Dont  you  set 
up  to  be  a  better  husband  than  I  am;  for  youre  not.  Ive 
owned  I'm  wrong.     You  havent. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Are  you  sorry,  Gregory? 

Gregory   [perplexed]   Sorry? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Yes,  sorry.  I  think  it's  time  for  you  to 
say  youre  sorry,  and  to  make  friends  with  Mr.  Juno 
before  we  all  dine  together. 

Gregory.  Seraphita:  I  promised  my  mother — 

Mrs.  Juno  [involuntarily]  Oh,  bother  your  mother! 
[Recovering  herself]  I  beg  your  pardon. 

Gregory.  A  promise  is  a  promise.  I  cant  tell  a  delib- 
erate lie.  I  know  I  ought  to  be  sorry ;  but  the  flat  fact  is 
that  I'm  not  sorry.     I  find  that  in  this  business,  somehow 


Overruled  99 

or  other,  there  is  a  disastrous  separation  between  my 
moral   principles   and   my   conduct. 

Juno.  Theres  nothing  disastrous  about  it.  It  doesnt 
matter  about  your  conduct  if  your  principles  are  all 
right. 

Gregory.  Bosh !  It  doesn't  matter  about  your  princi- 
ples if  your  conduct  is  all  right. 

Juno.  But  your  conduct  isnt  all  right;  and  my  prin- 
ciples are. 

Gregory.  Whats  the  good  of  your  principles  being 
right  if  they  wont  work  ? 

Juno.  They  will  work,  sir,  if  you  exercise  self-sacri- 
fice. 

Gregory.  Oh  yes:  if,  if,  if.  You  know  jolly  well  that 
self-sacrifice  doesnt  work  either  when  you  really  want 
a  thing.     How  much  have  you  sacrificed  yourself,  pray .'' 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Oh,  a  great  deal,  Gregory.  Dont  be  rude. 
Mr.  Juno  is  a  very  nice  man:  he  has  been  most  attentive 
to  me  on  the  voyage. 

Gregory.  And  Mrs.  Juno's  a  very  nice  woman.  She 
oughtnt  to  be;  but  she  is. 

Juno.   Why  oughtnt  she  to  be  a  nice  woman,  pray.^ 

Gregory.  I  mean  she  oughtnt  to  be  nice  to  me.  And 
you  oughtnt  to  be  nice  to  my  wife.  And  your  wife 
oughtnt  to  like  me.  And  my  wife  oughtnt  to  like  you. 
And  if  they  do,  they  oughtnt  to  go  on  liking  us.  And 
I  oughtnt  to  like  your  wife ;  and  you  oughtnt  to  like  mine ; 
and  if  we  do  we  oughtnt  to  go  on  liking  them.  But  we  do, 
all  of  us.     We  oughtnt;  but  we  do. 

Juno.  But,  my  dear  boy,  if  we  admit  we  are  in  the 
wrong  wheres  the  harm  of  it.''  Were  not  perfect;  but  as 
long  as  we  keep  the  ideal  before  us — 

Gregory.  How.^ 

Juno.     By  admitting  were  wrong. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [springing  up,  out  of  patience,  and  pacing 
round  the  lounge  intolerantly^  Well,  really,  I  must  have 


100  Overruled 

my  dinner.  These  two  men,  with  their  morality,  and  their 
promises  to  their  mothers,  and  their  admissions  that  they 
were  wrong,  and  their  sinning  and  suffering,  and 
their  going  on  at  one  another  as  if  it  meant  anything, 
or  as  if  it  mattered,  are  getting  on  my  nerves.  [Stooping 
over  the  back  of  the  chesterfield  to  address  Mrs.  Juno] 
If  you  will  be  so  very  good,  my  dear,  as  to  take  my  sen- 
timental husband  off  my  hands  occasionally,  I  shall  be 
more  than  obliged  to  you:  I'm  sure  you  can  stand  more 
male  sentimentality  than  I  can.  [Srveeping  away  to  the 
fireplace]  I,  on  my  part,  will  do  my  best  to  amuse  your 
excellent  husband  when  you  find  him  tiresome. 

Juno.   I  call  this  polyandry. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  wish  you  wouldnt  call  innocent  things 
by  offensive  names,  Mr.  Juno.  What  do  you  call  your 
own  conduct.'' 

Juno  [rwing]   I  tell  you  I  have  admitted — 
Gregory       1  f  What's  the  good  of  keeping  on 

at  that.'' 
Oh,  not  that  again,  please. 
Tops:    I'll   scream   if   you   say 
that  again. 

Juno.  Oh,  well,  if  you  wont  listen  to  me — !  [He  sits 
down  again]. 

Mrs.  Juno.  What  is  the  position  now  exactly?  [Mrs. 
Lunn  shrugs  her  shoulders  and  gives  up  the  conundrum. 
Gregory  looks  at  Juno.  Juno  turns  away  his  head  huff- 
ily].    I  mean,  what  are  we  going  to  do? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  What  would  you  advise,  Mr.  Juno? 

Juno.  I   should  advise  you  to  divorce  your  husband. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Do  you  want  me  to  drag  your  wife  into 
court  and  disgrace  her? 

Juno.  No:  I  forgot  that.  Excuse  me;  but  for  the  mo- 
ment I  thought  I  was  married  to  you. 

Gregory.  I  think  we  had  better  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones.  [To  Mrs.  Juno,  very  tenderly]   You  will  forgive 


Mrs.  Juno    f  together  < 
Mrs.  Lunn 


Overruled  101 

me,  wont  you  ?  Why  should  you  let  a  moment's  forget- 
fulness  embitter  all  our  future  life? 

Mrs.  Juno.  But  it's  Mrs.  Lunn  who  has  to  forgive 
you. 

Gregory,  Oh,  dash  it,  I  forgot.  This  is  getting  ridicu- 
lous. 

Mrs.  Lunn.   I'm  getting  hungry. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Do  you  really  mind,  Mrs.  Lunn? 

Mrs.  Lunn.  My  dear  Mrs.  Juno,  Gregory  is  one  of 
those  terribly  uxorious  men  who  ought  to  have  ten  wives. 
If  any  really  nice  woman  will  take  him  off  my  hands 
for  a  day  or  two  occasionally,  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged 
to  her. 

Gregory.  Seraphita:  you  cut  me  to  the  soul  [he 
weeps], 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Serve  you  right!  Youd  think  it  quite 
proper  if  it  cut  me  to  the  soul. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Am  I  to  take  Sibthorpe  off  your  hands 
too,  Mrs.  Lunn  ? 

Juno  [n'*i?io]  Do  you  suppose  I'll  allow  this? 

Mrs.  Juno.  Youve  admitted  that  youve  done  wrong. 
Tops.  Whats  the  use  of  your  allowing  or  not  allowing 
after  that? 

Juno.  I  do  not  admit  that  I  have  done  wrong.  I  admit 
that  what  I  did  was  wrong. 

Gregory.  Can  you  explain  the  distinction? 

Juno.  It's  quite  plain  to  anyone  but  an  imbecile.  If 
you  tell  me  Ive  done  something  wrong  you  insult  me. 
But  if  you  say  that  something  that  I  did  is  wrong  you 
simply  raise  a  question  of  morals.  I  tell  you  flatly  if  you 
say  I  did  anything  wrong  you  will  have  to  fight  me. 
In  fact  I  think  we  ought  to  fight  anyhow.  I  don't 
particularly  want  to;  but  I  feel  that  England  expects 
us  to. 

Gregory.  I  wont  fight.  If  you  beat  me  my  wife  would 


102  Overruled 

share  my  liumiliation.  If  I  beat  you,  she  would  sympathize 
with  you  and  loathe  me  for  my  brutality. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Not  to  mention  that  as  we  are  human  be- 
ings and  not  reindeer  or  barndoor  fowl,  if  two  men 
presumed  to  fight  for  us  we  couldnt  decently  ever  speak 
to  either  of  them  again. 

Gregory.  Besides,  neither  of  us  could  beat  the  other, 
as  we  neither  of  us  know  how  to  fight.  We  should  only 
blacken  each  others  eyes  and  make  fools  of  ourselves. 

Juno.  I  dont  admit  that.  Every  Englishman  can  use 
his  fists. 

Gregory,  Youre  an  Englishman.  Can  you  use  yours? 

Juno.  I  presume  so :  I  never  tried. 

Mrs.  Juno.  You  never  told  me  you  couldnt  fight. 
Tops.  I  thought  you  were  an  accomplished  boxer. 

Juno.  My  precious:  I  never  gave  you  any  ground  for 
such  a  belief. 

Mrs.  Juno.  You  always  talked  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  course.  You  spoke  with  the  greatest  contempt  of  men 
who  didnt  kick  other  men  downstairs. 

Juno.  Well,  I  cant  kick  Mr.  Lunn  downstairs.  Were 
on  the  ground  floor. 

Mrs.  Juno.  You  could  throw  him  into  the  harbor. 

Gregory.  Do  you  want  me  to  be  thrown  into  the  har- 
bor? 

Mrs.  Juno.  No:  I  only  want  to  shew  Tops  that  he's 
making  a  ghastly  fool  of  himself. 

Gregory  [rising  and  prowling  disgustedly  hetrveen 
the  chesterfield  and  the  rvindorvs^  We're  all  making  fools 
of  ourselves. 

Juno  [following  h^7n^^  Well,  if  we're  not  to  fight,  I 
must  insist  at  least  on  your  never  speaking  to  my  wife 
again. 

Gregory.  Does  my  speaking  to  your  wife  do  you  any 
barm? 

Juno.   No.  But  it's  the  proper  course  to  take.    [Em- 


Overruled  103 

phatically].  We  must  behave  with  some  sort  of  de- 
cency. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  And  are  you  never  going  to  speak  to  me 
agaiuj  Mr.  Juno? 

Juno.  I'm  prepared  to  promise  never  to  do  so.  I  think 
your  husband  has  a  right  to  demand  that.  Then  if  I  speak 
to  you  after,  it  will  not  be  his  fault.  It  will  be  a  breach 
of  my  promise;  and  I  shall  not  attempt  to  defend  my 
conduct. 

Gregory  [facing  him]  I  shall  talk  to  your  wife  as 
often  as  she'll  let  me. 

Mrs.  Juno.  I  have  no  objection  to  your  speaking  to 
me,  Mr.  Lunn. 

Juno.  Then  I  shall  take  steps. 

Gregory.  What  steps  ? 

Juno.  Steps.  Measures.  Proceedings.  Such  steps  as 
may  seem  advisable. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [to  Mrs.  Juno]  Can  your  husband  afford 
a  scandal,  Mrs.  Juno? 

Mrs.  Juno.  No. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Neither  can  mine. 

Gregory.  ISIrs.  Juno:  I'm  very  sorry  I  let  you  in  for 
all  this.  I  dont  know  how  it  is  that  we  contrive  to  make 
feelings  like  ours,  which  seems  to  me  to  be  beautiful 
and  sacred  feelings,  and  which  lead  to  such  interesting 
and  exciting  adventures,  end  in  vulgar  squabbles  and  de- 
grading scenes. 

Juno.  I  decline  to  admit  that  my  conduct  has  been 
vulgar  or  degrading. 

Gregory.  I  promised — 

Juno.  Look  here,  old  chap:  I  dont  say  a  word  against 
your  mother;  and  I'm  sorry  she's  dead;  but  really,  you 
know,  most  women  are  mothers ;  and  they  all  die  some 
time  or  other;  yet  that  doesnt  make  them  infallible  au- 
thorities on  morals,  docs  it? 

Gregory.  I  was  about  to  say  so  myself.  Let  me  add 


104  Overruled 

that  if  you  do  things  merely  because  you  think  some 
other  fool  expects  you  to  do  them,  and  he  expects  you 
to  do  them  because  he  thinks  you  expect  him  to  expect 
you  to  do  them,  it  will  end  in  everybody  doing  what  no- 
body wants  to  do,  which  is  in  my  opinion  a  silly  state  of 
things. 

Juno.  Lunn:  I  love  your  wife;  and  that's  all  about  it. 

Gregory.  Juno:  I  love  yours.  What  then? 

Juno.  Clearly  she  must  never  see  you  again. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Why  not? 

Juno.  Why  not!  My  love:  I'm  surprised  at  you. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Am  I  to  speak  only  to  men  who  dislike  me? 

Juno.  Yes:  I  think  that  is,  properly  speaking,  a  mar- 
ried woman's  duty. 

Mrs.  Juno.  Then  I  wont  do  it :  thats  flat.  I  like  to  be 
liked.  I  like  to  be  loved.  I  want  everyone  round  me  to 
love  me.  I  dont  want  to  meet  or  speak  to  anyone  who 
doesnt  like  me. 

Juno.  But,  my  precious,  this  is  the  most  horrible  im- 
morality. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  I  dont  intend  to  give  up  meeting  you,  Mr. 
Juno.  You  amuse  me  very  much.  I  dont  like  being  loved: 
it  bores  me.  But  I  do  like  to  be  amused. 

Juno.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  very  often.  But  I  hope 
also  we  shall  not  defend  our  conduct. 

Mrs,  Juno  [rising]  This  is  unendurable.  Weve  all 
been  flirting.  Need  we  go  on  footling  about  it? 

Juno   [huffily]    I  dont  know  what  you  call  footling — 

Mrs.  Juno  [cutting  him  short]  You  do.  Youre  footling. 
Mr.  Lunn  is  footling.  Cant  we  admit  that  we're  human 
and  have  done  with  it? 

Juno.  I  have  admitted  it  all  along.  I — 

Mrs.  Juno  [almost  screaming]  Then  stop  footling. 

The  dinner  gong  sounds. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [rising]  Thank  heaven!  Lets  go  in  to  din- 
ner.    Gregory:  take  in  Mrs.  Jvmo. 


Overruled  105 

Gregory.  But  surely  I  ought  to  take  in  our  guest^  and 
not  my  own  wife. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Well,  Mrs.  Juno  is  not  your  wife,  is  she.'* 

Gregory.  Oh,  of  course:  I  beg  your  pardon.  I'm  hope- 
lessly confused.  [He  offers  Ids  arm  to  Mrs.  Juno,  rather 
apprehensively^ . 

Mrs.  Juno.  You  seem  quite  afraid  of  me  [she  takes 
his  arm]. 

Gregory.  I  am.  I  simply  adore  you.  [They  go  out  to- 
gether; and  as  they  pass  through  the  door  he  turns  and 
says  in  a  ringing  voice  to  the  other  couple]  I  have  said  to 
Mrs.  Juno  that  I  simply  adore  her.  [He  takes  her  out 
defiantly]. 

Mrs.  Lunn  [calliiig  after  him]  Yes,  dear.  Shes  a 
darling.   [7'o  Juno]   Now,  Sibthorpe. 

Juno  [giving  her  his  arm  gallantly]  You  have  called 
me  Sibthorpe !  Thank  you.  I  think  Lunn's  conduct  fully 
justifies  ine  in  allowing  you  to  do  it. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Yes:  I  think  3rou  may  let  yourself  go  now. 

Juno.  Seraphita :  I  worship  you  beyond  expression. 

Mrs.  Lunn.  Sibthorpe :  you  amuse  me  beyond  descrip- 
tion. Come.    [2'hey  go  in  to  dinner  together]. 


PYGMALION 
XXV 

1912 


PREFACE  TO  PYGMALION. 

A  Professor  of  Phonetics. 

As  will  be  seen  later  on,  Pygmalion  needs,  not  a  pref- 
ace, but  a  sequel,  which  I  have  supplied  in  its  due  place. 

The  English  have  no  respect  for  their  language,  and 
will  not  teach  their  children  to  speak  it.  They  spell  it  so 
abominably  that  no  man  can  teach  himself  what  it  sounds 
like.  It  is  impossible  for  an  Englishman  to  open  his 
mouth  without  making  some  other  Englishman  hate  or 
despise  him.  German  and  Spanish  are  accessible  to  for- 
eigners :  English  is  not  accessible  even  to  Englishmen. 
The  reformer  England  needs  today  is  an  energetic  pho-  ' 
netic  enthusiast:  that  is  why  I  have  made  such  a  one  the 
hero  of  a  popular  play.  There  have  been  heroes  of  that 
kind  crying  in  the  wilderness  for  many  years  past.  When 
I  became  interested  in  the  subject  towards  the  end  of  the 
cighteen-seventies,  Melville  Bell  was  dead;  but  Alex- 
ander J.  Ellis  was  still  a  living  patriarch,  with  an  im- 
pressive head  always  covered  by  a  velvet  skull  cap,  for 
which  he  would  apologize  to  public  meetings  in  a  very 
courtly  manner.  He  and  Tito  Pagliardini,  another  pho- 
netic veteran,  were  men  whom  it  was  impossible  to  dislike. 
Henry  Sweet,  then  a  young  man,  lacked  their  sweetness 
of  character:  he  was  about  as  conciliatory  to  conventional 
mortals  as  Ibsen  or  Samuel  Butler.  His  great  ability 
as  a  phonetician  (he  was,  I  think,  the  best  of  them  all 
at  his  job)  would  have  entitled  him  to  high  official  rec- 
ognition, and  perhaps  enabled  him  to  popularize  his  sub- 
ject, but  for  his  Satanic  contempt  for  all  academic  dig- 
nitaries  and   persons   in    general   who   thought   more   of 

109 


110  Preface  to  Pygmalion 

Greek  than  of  phonetics.  Once,  in  the  days  when  the 
Imperial  Institute  rose  in  South  Kensington,  and  Joseph 
Chamberlain  was  booming  the  Empire,  I  induced  the  ed- 
itor of  a  leading  monthly  review  to  commission  an  article 
from  Sweet  on  the  imperial  importance  of  his  subject. 
When  it  arrived,  it  contained  nothing  but  a  savagely  de- 
risive attack  on  a  professor  of  language  and  literature 
whose  chair  Sweet  regarded  as  proper  to  a  phonetic  ex- 
pert only.  The  article,  being  libelous,  had  to  be  returned 
as  impossible;  and  I  had  to  renounce  my  dream  of 
dragging  its  author  into  the  limelight.  When  I  met  him 
afterwards,  for  the  first  time  for  many  years,  I  found 
to  my  astonishment  that  he,  who  had  been  a  quite  tol- 
erably presentable  young  man,  had  actually  managed  by 
sheer  scorn  to  alter  his  personal  appearance  until  he  had 
become  a  sort  of  walking  repudiation  of  Oxford  and  all 
its  traditions.  It  must  have  been  largely  in  his  own 
despite  that  he  was  squeezed  into  something  called  a 
Readership  of  phonetics  there.  The  future  of  phonetics 
rests  probably  with  his  pupils,  who  all  swore  by  him ;  but 
nothing  could  bring  the  man  himself  into  any  sort  of  com- 
pliance with  the  university,  to  which  he  nevertheless  clung 
by  divine  right  in  an  intensely  Oxonian  way.  I  daresay 
his  papers,  if  he  has  left  any,  include  some  satires  that 
may  be  published  without  too  destructive  results  fifty 
years  hence.  He  was,  I  believe,  not  in  the  least  an 
illnatured  man :  very  much  the  opposite^  I  should  say ;  but 
he  would  not  suffer  fools  gladly. 

Those  who  knew  him  will  recognize  in  my  third  act 
the  allusion  to  the  patent  shorthand  in  which  he  used 
to  write  postcards,  and  which  may  be  acquired  from  a 
four  and  six-penny  manual  published  by  the  Clarendon 
Press.  The  postcards  which  Mrs.  Higgins  describes  are 
such  as  I  have  received  from  Sweet.  I  would  decipher 
a  sound  which  a  cockney  would  represent  by  zerr,  and  a 
Frenchman  by  seu,  and  then  write  demanding  with  some 


Preface  to  Pygmalion  111 

heat  what  on  earth  it  meant.  Sweet,  with  boundless  con- 
tempt for  my  stupidity,  would  reply  that  it  not  only 
meant  but  obviously  was  the  word  Result,  as  no  other 
word  containing  that  sound,  and  capable  of  making  sense 
with  the  context,  existed  in  any  language  spoken  on  earth. 
That  less  expert  mortals  should  require  fuller  indications 
was  beyond  Sweet's  patience.  Therefore,  though  the 
whole  point  of  his  "Current  Shorthand"  is  that  it  can 
express  every  sound  in  the  language  perfectly,  vowels 
as  well  as  consonants,  and  that  your  hand  has  to  make  no 
stroke  except  the  easy  and  current  ones  with  which  you 
write  m,  n,  and  u,  1,  p,  and  q,  scribbling  them  at  whatever 
angle  comes  easiest  to  you,  his  unfortmiate  determination 
to  make  this  remarkable  and  quite  legible  script  serve  also 
as  a  shorthand  reduced  it  in  his  own  practice  to  the  most 
inscrutable  of  cryptograms.  His  true  objective  was  the 
provision  of  a  full^  accurate,  legible  script  for  our  noble 
but  ill-dressed  language;  but  he  was  led  past  that  by  his 
contempt  for  the  popular  Pitman  system  of  shorthand, 
which  he  called  the  Pitfall  system.  The  triumph  of  Pit- 
man was  a  triumph  of  business  organization :  there  was  a 
weekly  paper  to  persuade  you  to  learn  Pitman :  there  were 
cheap  textbooks  and  exercise  books  and  transcripts  of 
speeches  for  you  to  copy,  and  schools  where  experienced 
teachers  coached  you  up  to  the  necessary  proficiency. 
Sweet  could  not  organize  his  market  in  that  fashion.  He 
might  as  well  have  been  the  Sybil  who  tore  up  the  leaves 
of  prophecy  that  nobody  would  attend  to.  The  four  and 
six-penny  manual,  mostly  in  his  lithographed  handwriting, 
that  was  never  vulgarly  advertized,  may  perhaps  some  day 
be  taken  up  by  a  syndicate  and  pushed  upon  the  public 
as  The  Times  pushed  the  Encyclopa'dia  Brit.mnica;  but 
until  then  it  will  certainly  not  prevail  against  Pitman. 
I  have  bought  three  copies  of  it  during  my  lifetime ;  and 
I  am  informed  by  the  publishers  that  its  cloistered  exist- 
ence is  still  a  steady  and  healthy  one.    I  actually  learned 


112  Preface  to  Pygmalion 

the  system  two  several  times;  and  yet  the  shorthand  in 
which  I  am  writing  these  lines  is  Pitman's.  And  the 
reason  is,  that  my  secretary  cannot  transcribe  Sweet,  hav- 
ing been  perforce  tanght  in  the  schools  of  Pitman.  There- 
fore, Sweet  railed  at  Pitman  as  vainly  as  Thersites  railed 
at  Aj  ax :  his  raillery,  however  it  may  have  eased  his  soul, 
gave  no  popular  vogue  to  Current  Shorthand. 

Pygmalion  Higgins  is  not  a  portrait  of  Sweet,  to  whom 
the  adventure  of  Eliza  Doolittle  would  have  been  impos- 
sible; still,  as  will  be  seen,  there  are  touches  of  Sweet 
in  the  play.  With  Higgins's  physique  and  temperament 
Sweet  might  have  set  the  Thames  on  fire.  As  it  was,  he 
impressed  himself  professionally  on  Europe  to  an  extent 
that  made  his  comparative  personal  obscurity,  and  the 
failure  of  Oxford  to  do  justice  to  his  eminence,  a  puzzle 
to  foreign  specialists  in  his  subject.  I  do  not  blame  Ox- 
ford, because  I  think  Oxford  is  quite  right  in  demanding 
a  certain  social  amenity  from  its  nurslings  (heaven  knows 
it  is  not  exorbitant  in  its  requirements!);  for  although 
I  well  know  how  hard  it  is  for  a  man  of  genius  with  a 
seriously  underrated  subject  to  maintain  serene  and  kind- 
ly relations  with  the  men  who  underrate  it,  and  who  keep 
all  the  best  places  for  less  important  subjects  which  they 
profess  without  originality  and  sometimes  without  much 
capacity  for  them,  still,  if  he  overwhelms  them  with  wrath 
and  disdain,  he  cannot  expect  them  to  heap  honors  on 
him. 

Of  the  later  generations  of  phoneticians  I  know  little. 
Among  them  towers  the  Poet  Laureate,  to  whom  perhaps 
Higgins  may  owe  his  Miltonic  sympathies,  though  here 
again  I  must  disclaim  all  portraiture.  But  if  the  play 
makes  the  public  aware  that  there  are  such  people  as 
phoneticians,  and  that  they  are  among  the  most  important 
people  in  England  at  present,  it  will  serve  its  turn. 

I  wish  to  boast  that  Pygmalion  has  been  an  extremely 
successful  play  all  over  Europe  and  North  America  as 


Preface  to  Pygmalion  113 

well  as  at  home.  It  is  so  intensely  and  deliberately 
didactic,  and  its  subject  is  esteemed  so  dry,  that  I  delight 
in  throwing  it  at  the  heads  of  the  wiseacres  who  repeat 
the  parrot  cry  that  art  should  never  be  didactic.  It  goes 
to  prove  my  contention  that  art  should  never  be  anything 
else. 

Finally,  and  for  the  encouragement  of  people  troubled 
with  accents  that  cut  them  off  from  all  high  employment, 
I  may  add  that  the  change  wrought  by  Professor  Higgins 
in  the  flower  girl  is  neither  impossible  nor  uncommon. 
The  modern  concierge's  daughter  who  fulfils  her  ambition 
by  playing  the  Queen  of  Spain  in  Ruy  Bias  at  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais  is  only  one  of  many  thousands  of  men  and 
women  who  have  sloughed  off  their  native  dialects  and 
acquired  a  new  tongue.  But  the  thing  has  to  be  done  sci- 
entifically, or  the  last  state  of  the  aspirant  may  be  worse 
than  the  first.  An  honest  and  natural  slum  dialect  is  more 
tolerable  than  the  attempt  of  a  phonetically  untaught  per- 
son to  imitate  the  vulgar  dialect  of  the  golf  club;  and 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  our 
Academy  of  Dramatic  Art,  there  is  still  too  much  sham 
golfing  English  on  our  stage,  and  too  little  of  the  noble 
English  of  Forbes  Robertson. 


16 


ACT  I 

Covent  Garden  at  11.15  p.m.  Torrents  of  heavy  sum- 
mer rain.  Cab  whistles  blorving  frantically  in  all  direc- 
tions. Pedestrians  running  for  shelter  into  the  market 
and  under  the  portico  of  St.  Patd's  Church,  where  there 
are  already  several  people,  among  them  a  lady  and  her 
daughter  in  evening  dress.  They  are  all  peering  out 
gloomily  at  the  rain,  except  one  man  with  his  back  turned 
to  the  rest,  who  seems  wholly  preoccupied  with  a  notebook 
in  which  he  is  writing  busily. 

The  church  clock  strikes  the  first  quarter. 

The  Daughter  \in  the  space  between  the  central  pil- 
lars, close  to  the  one  on  her  left]  I'm  getting  chilled  to 
the  bone.  What  can  Freddy  be  doing  all  this  time  ?  Hes 
been  gone  twenty  minutes. 

The  Mother  [on  her  daughter's  right]  Not  so  long. 
But  he  ought  to  have  got  us  a  cab  by  this. 

A  Bystander  [on  the  lady's  right]  He  wont  get  no 
cab  not  until  half-past  eleven,  missus,  when  they  come 
back  after  dropping  their  theatre  fares. 

The  Mother.  But  we  must  have  a  cab.  We  cant  stand 
here  until  half-past  eleven.     It's  too  bad. 

The  Bystander.  Well,  it  aint  my  fault,  missus. 

The  Daughter.  If  Freddy  had  a  bit  of  gumption,  he 
would  have  got  one  at  the  theatre  door. 

The  Mother.  W^hat  could  he  have  done,  poor  boy? 

The  Daughter.  Other  people  got  cabs.  Why  couldnt 
he? 

Freddy  rushes  in  out  of  the  rain  from  the  Southdmp- 
114 


Act  I  Pygmalion  115 

ton  Street  side,  and  comes  between  them  closing  a  drip- 
ping umbrella.  lie  is  a  young  vian  of  twenty,  in  eve- 
ning dress,  very  wet  around  the  ankles. 

The  Daughter,  Well,  havnt  you  got  a  cab? 

Freddy.  Thercs  not  one  to  be  had  for  love  or  money. 

The  Mother.  Oh,  Freddy,  there  must  be  one.  You 
cant  have  tried. 

The  Daughter.  It's  too  tiresome.  Do  you  expect  us  to 
go  and  get  one  ourselves? 

Freddy.  I  tell  you  theyre  all  engaged.  The  rain  was  so 
sudden :  nobody  was  prepared ;  and  everybody  had  to  take 
a  cab.  Ive  been  to  Charing  Cross  one  way  and  nearly 
to  Ludgate  Circus  the  other;  and  they  were  all  engaged. 

The  Mother.  Did  you  try  Trafalgar  Square? 

Freddy.  There  wasnt  one  at  Trafalgar  Square. 

The  Daughter.     Did  you  try? 

Freddy.  I  tried  as  far  as  Charing  Cross  Station.  Did 
you  expect  me  to  walk  to  Hammersmith? 

The  Daughter.     You  havnt  tried  at  all. 

The  Mother.  You  really  are  very  helpless,  Freddy. 
Go  again;  and  dont  come  back  until  you  have  found  a 
cab. 

Freddy.  I  shall  simply  get  soaked  for  nothing. 

The  Daughter.  And  what  about  us?  Are  we  to  stay 
here  all  night  in  this  draught,  with  next  to  nothing  on. 
You  selfish  pig — 

Freddy.  Oh,  very  well:  I'll  go,  I'll  go.  [He  opens  his 
umbrella  and  dashes  off  Strandwards,  but  comes  into  col- 
lision with  a  flower  girl,  tvho  is  hurrying  in  for  shelter, 
knocking  her  basket  out  of  her  hands.  A  blinding  flash 
of  lightning,  followed  instantly  by  a  rattling  peal  of  thun- 
der, orchestrates  the  incident]. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Nah  then,  Freddy:  look  wh'  y' 
gowin,  deah. 

Freddy.  Sorry  [he  rushes  off]. 

The  Flower  Girl  [picking  up  her  scattered  flowers 


116  Pygmalion  Act  I 

and  replacing  them  in  the  basket^  Theres  menners 
f '  yer !  Te-oo  banches  o  voylcts  trod  into  the  mad. 
l^She  sits  down  on  the  plinth  of  the  column,  sorting  her 
flowers,  on  the  lady's  right.  She  is  not  at  all  an  attractive 
person.  She  is  perhaps  eighteen,  perhaps  twenty,  hardly 
older.  She  wears  a  little  sailor  hat  of  black  straw  that 
has  long  been  exposed  to  the  dust  and  soot  of  London 
and  has  seldom  if  ever  been  brushed.  Her  hair  needs 
washing  rather  badly:  its  mousy  color  can  hardly  be 
natural.  She  wears  a  shoddy  black  coat  that  reaches 
nearly  to  her  knees  and  is  shaped  to  her  waist.  She  has 
a  brown  skirt  with  a  coarse  apron.  Her  boots  are  much 
the  worse  for  wear.  She  is  no  doubt  as  clean  as  she  can 
afford  to  be;  but  compared  to  the  ladies  she  is  very  dirty. 
Her  features  are  no  worse  than  theirs;  but  their  condi- 
tion leaves  something  to  be  desired;  and  she  needs  the 
services  of  a  dentist] . 

The  Mother.  How  do  you  know  that  my  son's  name 
is  Freddy,  pray? 

The  Flower  Girl.  Ow,  eez  ye-ooa  san,  is  e?  Wal, 
fewd  dan  y'  de-ooty  bawmz  a  mather  should,  eed  now 
bettern  to  spawl  a  pore  gel's  flahrzn  than  ran  a\vy  athaht 
pyin.  Will  ye-oo  py  me  f'them.^  [Here,  with  apolo- 
gies, this  desperate  attempt  to  represent  her  dialect 
without  a  phonetic  alphabet  must  be  abandoned  as  un- 
intelligible outside  London.] 

The  Daughter.  Do  nothing  of  the  sort,  mother. 
The  idea ! 

The  Mother.  Please  allow  me,  Clara.  Have  you 
any  pennies? 

The  Daughter.  No.  I've  nothing  smaller  than  six- 
pence. 

The  Flower  Girl  [hopefully]  I  can  give  you  change 
for  a  tanner,  kind  lady. 

The  Mother  [to  Clara]  Give  it  to  me.  [Clara  parts 
reluctantly].    Now  [to  the  girl]  This  is  for  your  flowers. 


Act  Pygmalion  117 

The  Flower  Girl.     Thank  you  kindly,  lady. 

The  Daughter.  Make  her  give  you  the  change. 
These  things  are  only  a  penny  a  bunch. 

The  Mother.  Do  hold  your  tongue,  Clara.  [To  the 
girl].     You  can  keep  the  change. 

The  Flower  Girl.     Oh,  thank  you,  lady. 

The  Mother.  Now  tell  me  how  you  know  that  young 
gentleman's  name. 

The  Flower  Girl.     I  didnt. 

The  Mother.  I  heard  you  call  him  by  it.  Dont  try 
to  deceive  me. 

The  Flower  Girl  [protesting]  Whos  trying  to  de- 
ceive you?  I  called  him  Freddy  or  Charlie  same  as  you 
might  yourself  if  you  was  talking  to  a  stranger  and 
wished  to  be  pleasant.  [She  sits  down  beside  her 
basket ] . 

The  Daughter.  Sixpence  thrown  away !  Really, 
mamma,  you  might  have  spared  Freddy  that.  [She  re- 
treats in  disgust  behind  the  pillar] . 

An  elderlif  gentleman  of  the  amiable  military  type 
rushes  into  shelter,  and  closes  a  dripping  umbrella.  He  is 
in  the  same  plight  as  Freddy,  very  rvet  about  the  ankles. 
He  is  in  evening  dress,  with  a  light  overcoat.  He  takes  the 
place  left  vacant  by  the  daughter's  retirement. 

The  Gentleman.     Phew ! 

The  Mother  [to  the  gentleman]  Oh,  sir,  is  there  any 
sign  of  its  stopping? 

The  Gentleman.  I'm  afraid  not.  It  started  worse 
than  ever  about  two  minutes  ago.  [He  goes  to  the  plinth 
beside  the  flower  girl;  puts  up  his  foot  on  it;  and  stoops 
to  turn  doivn  his  trouser  ends]. 

The  Mother.  Oh,  dear!  [She  retires  sadly  and 
joins  her  daughter]. 

The  Flower  Girl  [taking  advantage  of  the  military 
gentleman's  proximity  to  establish  friendly  relations  with 


118  Pygmalion  Act  I 

him].     If  it's   worse  it's   a  sign   it's   nearly  over.     So 
cheer  up,  Captain ;  and  buy  a  flower  off  a  poor  girl. 

The  Gentleman.     I'm  sorry,     I  havnt  any  change. 

The  Flower  Girl.     I  can  give  you  change.  Captain. 

The  Gentlemen.  For  a  sovereign?  Ive  nothing 
less. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Garn!  Oh  do  buy  a  flower  off 
me.  Captain.  I  can  change  half-a-crown.  Take  this  for 
tuppence. 

The  Gentleman.  Now  dont  be  troublesome:  theres 
a  good  girl.  [Trying  his  pockets]  I  really  havnt  any 
change — Stop:  heres  three  hapence,  if  thats  any  use  to 
you  [he  retreats  to  the  other  pillai']. 

The  Flower  Girl  [disappointed,  but  thinking  three 
halfpence  better  than  nothing]    Thank  you,  sir. 

The  Bystander  [to  the  girl]  You  be  careful:  give 
him  a  flower  for  it.  Theres  a  bloke  here  behind  taking 
down  every  blessed  word  youre  saying.  [All  turn  to  the 
man  who  is  taking  notes]. 

The  Flower  Girl  [springing  up  terrified]  I  aint  done 
nothing  wrong  by  speaking  to  the  gentleman.  Ive  a 
right  to  sell  flowers  if  I  keep  off  the  kerb.  [Hysteri- 
cally] I'm  a  respectable  girl:  so  help  me,  I  never  spoke 
to  him  except  to  ask  him  to  buy  a  flower  off  me.  [Gen- 
eral hiibbubj  mostly  sympathetic  to  the  flower  girl,  but 
deprecating  her  excessive  sensibility.  Cries  of  Dont 
start  hollerin.  Whos  hurting  you?  Nobody's  going  to 
touch  you.  Whats  the  good  of  fussing?  Steady  on. 
Easy,  easy,  etc.,  come  from  the  elderly  staid  spectators, 
who  pat  her  comfortingly.  Less  patient  ones  bid  her 
shut  her  head,  or  ask  her  roughly  what  is  wrong  with  her. 
A  remoter  group,  not  knowing  what  the  matter  is,  crowd 
in  and  increase  the  noise  with  question  and  answer: 
Whats  the  row  ?  What  she  do  ?  Where  is  he  ?  A  tec  tak- 
ing her  down.  What!  him?  Yes:  him  over  there:  Took 
money   off   the   gentleman,  etc.      The   flower  girl,   dis- 


Act  I  Pygmalion  119 

fraught  and  mobbed,  breaks  through  them  to  the  gentle- 
man, crying  wildly^  Oh,  sir,  dont  let  him  charge  me. 
You  dunno  what  it  means  to  me.  Theyll  take  away  my 
character  and  drive  me  on  the  streets  for  speaking  to 
gentlemen.    They — 

The  Note  Taker  [coming  forward  on  her  right,  the 
rest  crowding  after  him^  There,  there,  there,  there !  whos 
hurting  you,  you  silly  girl?     What  do  you  take  me  for? 

The  Bystander.  It's  all  right:  hes  a  gentleman: 
look  at  his  boots.  [Explaining  to  the  note  taher^  She 
thought  you  was  a  copper's  nark,  sir. 

The  Note  Taker  [with  quick  interest^  Whats  a 
copper's  nark? 

The  Bystander  [inapt  at  definition^  It's  a — well,  it's 
a  copper's  nark,  as  you  might  say.  What  else  would 
you  call  it?     A  sort  of  informer. 

The  Flower  Girl  [still  hysterical]  I  take  my  Bible 
oath  I  never  said  a  word — 

The  Note  Taker  [overbearing  but  good-humored] 
Oh,  shut  up,  shut  up.    Do  I  look  like  a  policeman  ? 

The  Flower  Girl  [far  from  reassured]  Then  what 
did  you  take  down  my  words  for?  How  do  I  know 
whether  you  took  me  down  right?  You  just  shew  me 
what  youve  wrote  about  me.  [The  note  taker  opens  his 
book  and  holds  it  steadily  under  her  nose,  though  the 
pressure  of  the  mob  trying  to  read  it  over  his  shoulders 
would  upset  a  weaker  man].  Whats  that?  That  aint 
proper  writing.     I  cant  read  that. 

The  Note  Taker.  I  can.  [Reads,  reproducing  her 
pronunciation  exactly"]  "Cheer  ap,  Keptin;  n'  baw  ya 
flahr  orf  a  pore  gel." 

The  Flower  Girl  [much  distressed]  It's  because  I 
called  him  Captain.  I  meant  no  harm.  [  To  the  gentle- 
man] Oh,  sir,  dont  let  him  lay  a  charge  agen  me  for  a 
word  like  that.     You — 

The  Gentleman.    Charge!   I  make  no  charge.     [To 


120  Pygmalion  Act  I 

tlie  note  taker^  Really,  sir,  if  you  are  a  detective,  you 
need  not  begin  protecting  me  against  molestation  by 
young  women  until  I  ask  you.  Anybody  could  see  that 
the  girl  meant  no  harm. 

The  Bystanders  Generally  [demonstrating  against 
police  espionage]  Course  they  could.  What  business  is 
it  of  yours?  You  mind  your  own  affairs.  He  wants 
promotion,  he  does.  Taking  down  people's  words ! 
Girl  never  said  a  word  to  him.  What  harm  if  she  did? 
Nice  thing  a  girl  cant  shelter  from  the  rain  without 
being  insulted,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  [She  is  conducted  hy  the 
more  smypathetic  demonstrators  hack  to  her  plinth,  where 
she  resumes  her  seat  and  struggles  with  her  emotion. 

The  Bystander.  He  aint  a  tec.  Hes  a  blooming 
busybody :  thats  what  he  is.     I  tell  you,  look  at  his  boots. 

The  Note  Taker  [turning  on  him  genially]  And  how 
are  all  your  people  down  at  Selsey? 

The  Bystander  [suspiciously]  Who  told  you  my 
people  come  from  Selsey? 

The  Note  Taker.  Never  you  mind.  They  did. 
\To  the  girl]  How  do  you  come  to  be  up  so  far  east? 
You  were  born  in  Lisson  Grove. 

The  Flower  Girl  [appalled]  Oh,  what  harm  is  there 
in  my  leaving  Lisson  Grove?  It  wasnt  fit  for  a  pig  to 
live  in;  and  I  had  to  pay  four-and-six  a  week.  [In  tears] 
Oh,  boo — hoo — 00 — 

The  Note  Taker.  Live  where  you  like;  but  stop 
that  noise. 

The  Gentleman  [to  the  girl]  Come,  come!  he  cant 
touch  you:  you  have  a  right  to  live  where  you  please. 

A  Sarcastic  Bystander  [thrusting  himself  between 
the  note  taker  and  the  gentleman]  Park  Lane,  for  in- 
stance. Id  like  to  go  into  the  Housing  Question  with 
you,  I  would. 

The  Flower  Girl  [subsiding  into  a  brooding  melon- 


Act  I  Pygmalion  121 

choly  over  her  iashet,  and  talking  very  low-spiritedly 
to  herself^  I'm  a  good  girl,  I  am. 

The  Sarcastic  Bystander  \not  attending  to  her] 
Do  you  know  where  I  come   from? 

The  Note  Taker   [promjjtly]    Hoxton. 

Titterings.  Popular  interest  in  the  note  taker's  per- 
formance increases. 

The  Sarcastic  One  [amazed]  Well,  wlio  said  I  didnt? 
Bly  me !     You  know  everything,  you  do. 

The  Flower  Girl  [still  nursing  her  sense  of  injury] 
Aint  no  call  to  meddle  with  me,  he  aint. 

The  Bystander  [to  her]  Of  course  he  aint.  Dont 
you  stand  it  from  him.  [To  the  note  taker]  See  here: 
what  call  have  you  to  know  about  people  what  never 
offered  to  meddle  with  you?     Wheres  your  warrant? 

Several  Bystanders  [encouraged  by  this  seeming 
point  of  law]  Yes:  wheres  j'^our  warrant? 

The  Flower  Girl.  Let  liim  say  what  he  likes.  I 
dont  want  to  have  no  truck  with  liim. 

The  Bystander.  You  take  us  for  dirt  under  your 
feet,  dont  you?  Catch  you  taking  liberties  with  a  gen- 
tleman ! 

The  Sarcastic  Bystander.  Yes:  tell  him  where 
he  come  from  if  you  want  to  go  fortune-telling. 

The  Note  Taker.  Cheltenham,  Harrow,  Cambridge, 
and  India. 

The  Gentleman.  Quite  right.  [Great  laughter. 
Reaction  in  the  note  taker's  favor.  Exclamations  of  Ho 
knows  all  about  it.  Told  him  proper.  Hear  him  tell  the 
toff  where  he  come  from?  etc.].  May  I  ask,  sir,  do  you 
do  this  for  your  living  at  a  music  hall? 

The  Note  Taker.  Ive  thought  of  that.  Perhaps  I 
shall  some  day. 

The  rain  has  stopped;  and  the  persons  on  the  outside 
of  the  crowd  begin  to  drop  off. 


122  Pygmalion  Act  I 

The  Flower  Girl  [resenting  the  reaction]  Hes  no 
gentleman,  he  aint,  to  interfere  with  a  poor  girl. 

The  Daughter  [out  of  patience,  pushing  her  way 
rudely  to  the  front  and  displacing  the  gentleman,  who 
politely  retires  to  the  other  side  of  the  pillar]  What  on 
earth  is  Freddy  doing?  I  shall  get  pneumonia  if  I  stay 
in  this  draught  any  longer. 

The  Note  Taker  [to  himself,  hastily  making  a  note 
of  her  pronunciation  of  "monia"]  Earlscourt. 

The  Daughter  [violently]  Will  you  please  keep  your 
impertinent  remarks  to  yourself.^ 

The  Note  Taker.  Did  I  say  that  out  loud?  I  didnt 
mean  to.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Your  mother's  Epsom, 
unmistakeably. 

The  Mother  [advancing  between  her  daughter  and 
the  note  taker]  How  very  curious !  I  was  brought  up  in 
Largelady  Park,  near  Epsom. 

The  Note  Taker  [uproariously  amused]  Ha!  ha! 
What  a  devil  of  a  name  !  Excuse  me.  [To  the  daughter] 
You  want  a  cab,  do  you? 

The   Daughter.     Dont  dare  speak  to  me. 

The  Mother.  Oh,  please,  please  Clara.  [Her 
daughter  repudiates  her  with  an  angry  shrug  and  retires 
haughtily.]  We  should  be  so  grateful  to  you,  sir,  if  you 
found  us  a  cab.  [The  note  taker  produces  a  whistle]. 
Oh,  thank  you.      [She  joins  her  daughter]. 

The  note  taker  blows  a  piercing  blast. 

The  Sarcastic  Bystander.  There!  I  knowed  he 
was  a  plain-clothes  copper. 

The  Bystander.  That  aint  a  police  whistle:  thats 
a  sporting  whistle. 

The  Flower  Girl  [still  preoccupied  with  her  wounded 
feelings]  Hes  no  right  to  take  away  my  character.  My 
character  is  the  same  to  me  as  any  lady's. 

The  Note  Taker.  I  dont  know  whether  youve  no- 
ticed it;  but  the  rain  stopped  about  two  minutes  ago. 


Act  I  Pyg-malion  123 

The  Bystander.  So  it  has.  Why  didnt  you  say  so 
before?  and  us  losing  our  time  listening  to  your  silliness. 
[He  walks  ojf  towards  the  Strand]. 

The  Sarcastic  Bystander.  I  can  tell  where  you  come 
from.     You  come  from  Anwell.     Go  back  there. 

The  (Note  Taker  [helpfully]  H anwell. 

The  Sarcastic  Bystander  [affecting  great  distinction 
of  speech]  Thenk  you,  teacher.  Haw  haw!  So  long 
[he  touches  his  hat  with  mock  respect  and  strolls  off]. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Frightening  people  like  that! 
How   would   he   like   it   himself. 

Tpie  Mother.  It's  quite  fine  now,  Clara.  We  can 
walk  to  a  motor  bus.  Come.  [She  gathers  her  skirts 
above  her  ankles  and  hurries  off  towards  the  Strand]. 

The  Daughter.  But  the  cab — [her  mother  is  out  of 
hearing].      Oh,   how   tiresome!      [She   follows   angrily]. 

All  the  rest  have  gone  except  the  note  taker,  the  gen- 
tleman, and  the  flower  girl,  wlio  sits  arranging  her  basket, 
and  still  pitying  herself  in  murmurs. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Poor  girl !  Hard  enough  for  her 
to  live  without  being  worrited  and  chivied. 

The  Gentleman  [returning  to  his  former  place  on 
the  note  taker's  left]  How  do  you  do  it,  if  I  may  ask? 

The  Note  Taker.  Simply  phonetics.  The  science 
of  speech.  Thats  my  profession :  also  my  hobby.  Happy 
is  the  man  who  can  make  a  living  by  his  hobby !  You  can 
spot  an  Irishman  or  a  Yorkshireman  by  his  brogue.  / 
can  place  any  man  within  six  miles.  I  can  place  him 
within  two  miles  in  London.  Sometimes  within  two 
streets. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself, 
unmanly  coward ! 

The  Gentleman.      But  is  there  a  living  in  that? 

The  Note  Taker.  Oh  yes.  Quite  a  fat  one.  This 
is  an  age  of  upstarts.  Men  begin  in  Kentish  Town  with 
£80  a  year,  and  end  in  Park  Lane  with  a  hvmdred  thou- 


124  Pj^gmalion  Act  I 

sand.  They  want  to  drop  Kentish  Town;  but  they  give 
themselves  away  every  time  they  open  their  mouths. 
Now  I  can  teach  them — 

The  Flower  Girl.  Let  him  mind  his  own  business 
and  leave  a  poor  girl — 

The  Note  Taker  [e.rplosively]  Woman:  cease  this 
detestable  boohooing  instantly;  or  else  seek  the  shelter 
of  some  other  place  of  worship. 

The  Flower  Girl  [with  feeble  defiance'}  Ive  a  right 
to  be  here  if  I  like,  same  as  you. 

The  Note  Taker.  A  woman  who  utters  such  de- 
pressing and  disgusting  soimds  has  no  right  to  be  any- 
where— no  right  to  live.  Remember  that  you  are  a  hu- 
man being  with  a  soul  and  tlie  divine  gift  of  articulate 
speech:  that  your  native  language  is  the  language  of 
Shakespear  and  Milton  and  The  Bible;  and  dont  sit 
there  crooning  like  a  bilious  pigeon. 

The  Flower  Girl  [quite  overwhelmed,  and  looJcing  up 
at  him  in  mingled  wonder  and  deprecation  without  daring 
to  raise  her  head]   Ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-ow-oo ! 

The  Note  Taker  [whipping  out  his  book]  Heavens! 
what  a  sound !  [lie  writes;  then  holds  out  the  book  and 
reads,  reproducing  her  vowels  exactly]  Ah-ah-ah-ow- 
ow-ow-oo ! 

The  Flower  Girl  [ticJded  by  the  performance,  and 
laughing  in  spite  of  herself]   Garn ! 

The  Note  Taker.  You  see  this  creature  with  her 
kerbstone  English:  the  English  that  will  keep  her  in 
the  gutter  to  the  end  of  her  days.  Well,  sir,  in  three 
months  I  could  pass  that  girl  off  as  a  duchess  at  an  am- 
bassador's garden  party.  I  could  even  get  her  a  place 
as  lady's  maid  or  shop  assistant,  which  requires  better 
English.  Thats  tlie  sort  of  thing  I  do  for  commercial 
millionaires.  And  on  the  profits  of  it  I  do  genuine  sci- 
entific work  in  phonetics,  and  a  little  as  a  poet  on  Mil- 
tonic  lines. 


Act  I  Pygrnalion  125 

The  Gentleman.  I  am  myself  a  student  of  Indian 
dialects;  and — 

The  Note  Taker  [eagerly]  Are  you?  Do  you  know 
Colonel  Pickering,  the  author  of  Spoken  Sanscrit? 

The  Gentleman.  I  am  Colonel  Pickering.  Who 
are  you? 

The  Note  Taker.  Henry  Higgins,  author  of  Hig- 
gins's  Universal  Alphabet. 

Pickering  [with  enthusiasm]  I  came  from  India  to 
meet  you. 

Higgins.     I  was  going  to  India  to  meet  you. 

Pickering.     Where  do  you  live? 

Higgins.  27a  Wimpole  Street.  Come  and  sec  me  to- 
morrow. 

Pickering.  I'm  at  the  Carlton.  Come  with  me  now 
and  lets  have  a  jaw  over  some  supper. 

Higgins.     Right  you  are. 

The  Flower  Girl  [to  PicJcering,  as  he  passes  her] 
Buy  a  flower,  kind  gentleman.     I'm  short  for  my  lodging. 

Pickering.  I  really  havnt  any  change.  I'm  sorry 
[he  goes  away]. 

Higgins  [shocked  at  girl's  mendacity]  Liar.  You 
said  you  could  change  half-a-crown. 

The  Flower  Girl  [rising  in  desperation]  You  ought 
to  be  stuffed  with  nails,  you  ought.  [Flinging  the  basket 
at  his  feet]  Take  the  whole  blooming  basket  for  sixpence. 

The  church  clock  strikes  the  second  quarter. 

Higgins  [hearing  in  it  the  voice  of  God,  rebuking  him 
for  his  Pharisaic  want  of  charity  to  the  poor  girl]  A  re- 
minder. [He  raises  his  hat  solemnly;  then  throws  a 
handful  of  money  into  the  basket  and  follows  Pickering]. 

The  Flower  Girl  [picking  up  a  half-crown]  Ah-ow- 
ooh!  [Picking  up  a  couple  of  florins]  Aaah-ow-ooh ! 
[Picking  up  several  coins]  Aaaaaah-ow-ooh !  [Pickiiig 
up    a    half-sovereign]    Aaaaaaaaaaaah-ow-ooh  ! ! ! 

Freddy   [springing  out  of  a  taxicab]  Got  one  at  last. 


126  Pygmalion  Act  I 

Hallo!  [To  the  girl]  Where  are  the  two  ladies  that  were 
here? 

The  Flower  Girl.  They  walked  to  the  bus  when  the 
rain  stopped. 

Freddy.  And  left  me  with  a  cab  on  my  hands.  Dam- 
nation ! 

The  Flower  Girl  [with  grandetir]  Never  you  mind, 
young  man.  I'm  going  home  in  a  taxi.  [She  sails  off  to 
the  cab.  The  driver  puts  his  hand  behind  him  and  holds 
the  door  firmly  shut  against  her.  Quite  understanding 
his  mistrust,  she  shews  him  her  handful  of  money. 
Eightpence  aiut  no  object  to  me,  Charlie.  [He  grins 
and  opens  the  door] .  Angel  Court,  Drury  Lane,  rovmd 
the  corner  of  Mickle John's  oil  shop.  Lets  see  how  fast 
you  can  make  her  hop  it.  [She  gets  in  and  pulls  the 
door  to  with  a  slam  as  the  taxicab  starts], 

Freddy.     Well,  I'm  dashed! 


ACT  II 

Next  day  at  11  a.m.  Higgins's  laboratory  in  Wimpole 
Street.  It  is  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  looking  on  the 
street,  and  was  meant  for  the  drawing-room.  The  double 
doors  are  in  the  middle  of  the  back  wall;  and  persons 
entering  find  in  the  corner  to  their  right  two  tall  file 
cabinets  at  right  angles  to  one  another  against  the  walls. 
In  this  corner  stands  a  flat  writing-table,  on  which  arei 
a  phonograph,  a  laryngoscope,  a  row  of  tiny  organ  pipes 
with  a  bellows,  a  set  of  lamp  chimneys  for  singing 
flames  with  burners  attached  to  a  gas  plug  in  the  wall 
by  an  indiarubber  tube,  several  tuning-forks  of  different 
sizes,  a  life-sise  image  of  half  a  human  head,  showing 
in  section  the  vocal  organs,  and  a  box  containing  a  supply 
of  wax  cylinders  for  the  phonograph. 

Further  down  the  room,  on  the  same  side,  is  a  fireplace, 
with  a  comfortable  leather-covered  easy-chair  at  the  side 
of  the  hearth  nearest  the  door,  and  a  coal-scuttle.  There 
is  a  clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  Between  the  fireplace 
and  the  phonograph  table  is  a  stand  for  newspapers. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  central  door,  to  the  left  of 
the  visitor,  is  a  cabinet  of  shallow  drawers.  On  it  is  a 
telephone  and  the  telephone  directory.  The  corner  be- 
yond, and  most  of  the  side  wall,  is  occupied  by  a  grand 
piano,  with  the  keyboard  at  the  end  furthest  from  the 
door,  and  a  bench  for  the  player  extending  the  full  length 
of  the  keyboard.  On  the  piano  is  a  dessert  dish  heaped 
with  fruit  and  srveets,  mostly  chocolates. 

The  middle  of  the  room  is  clear.  Besides  the  easy- 
chair,  the  piano  bench,  and  two  chairs  at  the  phonograph 

127 


128  Pygmalion  Act  II 

table,  there  is  one  stray  chair.  It  stands  near  the  fire- 
place. On  the  walls,  engravings;  mostly  Piranesis  and 
mezzotint  portraits.     No  paintings. 

PicJcering  is  seated  at  the  table,  putting  down  some 
cards  and  a  tuning-fork  ivhich  he  has  been  using.  Hig- 
gins  is  standing  up  near  him,  closing  two  or  three  file 
drawers  which  are  hanging  out.  He  appears  in  the 
morning  light  as  a  robust,  vital,  appetizing  sort  of  man 
of  forty  or  thereabouts,  dressed  in  a  professional-looking 
black  frock-coat  with  a  white  linen  collar  and  black  silk 
tie.  He  is  of  the  energetic,  scientific  type,  heartily,  even 
violently  interested  in  everything  that  can  be  studied  as 
a  scientific  subject,  and  careless  about  himself  and  other 
people,  including  their  feelings.  He  is,  in  fact,  but  for 
his  years  and  size,  rather  like  a  very  impetuoiis  baby 
"taking  notice"  eagerly  and,  loudly,  and  requiring  almost 
as  much  watching  to  keep  him  out  of  unintended  mischief. 
His  manner  varies  from  genial  bullying  when  he  is  in 
a  good  humor  to  stormy  petulance  when  anything  goes 
wrong;  but  he  is  so  entirely  frank  and  void  of  malice 
that  he  remains  likeable  even  in  his  least  reasonable 
moments. 

HiGGiNs  [as  he  shuts  the  last  drawer]  Well,  I  think 
thats  the  whole  show. 

Pickering.  It's  really  amazing.  I  havnt  taken  half 
of  it  in,  you  know. 

HiGGiNS.     Would  you  like  to  go  over  any  of  it  again? 

Pickering  [rising  and  coming  to  the  fireplace,  where 
he  plants  himself  with  his  back  to  the  fire]  No,  thank 
you;  not  now.     I'm  quite  done  up  for  this  morning. 

HiGGiNs  [following  him,  and  standing  beside  him  on 
his  left]   Tired  of  listening  to  sounds.'' 

Pickering.  Yes.  It's  a  fearful  strain.  I  rather 
fancied  myself  because  I  can  pronounce  twenty-four  dis- 
tinct vowel   sounds;  but  your  hundred  and  thirty  beat 


Act  II  Pygmalion  129 

me.  I  cant  hear  a  bit  of  difference  between  most 
of  them. 

HiGGiNs  [chucJding,  and  going  over  to  the  piano  to 
eat  sweets^  Oh^  that  comes  with  practice.  You  hear  no 
difference  at  first;  but  you  keep  on  listening,  and  pres- 
ently you  find  they  re  all  as  different  as  A  from  B.  [Mrs. 
Pearce  looks  in:  she  is  Higgins's  housekeeper^  Whats 
the  matter? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [hesitating,  evidently  perplexed'^  A 
young  woman  wants  to  see  you,  sir. 

HiGGiNs.     A  young  woman  !     What  does  she  want? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Well,  sir,  she  says  youll  be  glad  to  see 
her  when  you  know  what  shes  come  about.  Shes  quite  a 
common  girl,  sir.  Very  common  indeed.  I  should  have 
sent  her  away,  only  I  thought  perhaps  you  wanted  her 
to  talk  into  your  machines.  I  hope  Ive  not  done  wrong; 
but  really  you  see  such  queer  people  sometimes — youll 
excuse  me,  I'm  sure,  sir — 

HiGGiNS.  Oh,  thats  all  right,  Mrs.  Pearce.  Has  she 
an  interesting  accent? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Oh,  something  dreadful,  sir,  really.  I 
dont  know  how  you  can  take  an  interest  in  it. 

HiGGiNs  [to  Pickering]  Lets  have  her  up.  Shew  her 
up,  Mrs.  Pearce  [he  rushes  across  to  his  working  table 
and  picks  ozit  a  cylinder  to  use  on  the  phonograph], 

Mrs.  Pearce  [only  half  resigned  to  it]  Very  well,  sir. 
It's  for  you  to  say.     [She  goes  downstairs]. 

HiGGiNS.  This  is  rather  a  bit  of  luck.  I'll  shew  you 
how  I  make  records.  We'll  set  her  talking;  and  I'll  take 
it  down  first  in  Bell's  visible  Speech;  then  in  broad 
Romic ;  and  then  we'll  get  her  on  the  phonograph  so  that 
you  can  turn  her  on  as  often  as  you  like  with  the  written 
transcript  before  you. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [returningl  This  is  the  young  woman,  sir. 

The  flower  girl  enters  in  state.  She  has  a  hat  with 
three  ostrich  feathers,  orange,  sky-blue,  and  red.  She 
17 


130  Pygmalion  Act  II 

has  a  nearly  clean  apron,  and  the  shoddy  coat  has  been 
tidied  a  little.  The  pathos  of  this  deplorable  figure,  with 
its  innocent  vanity  and  consequential  air,  touches  Pick- 
ering, who  has  already  straightened  himself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Mrs.  Pearce.  But  as  to  Higgins,  the  only  dis- 
tinction he  makes  between  men  and  women  is  that  when 
he  is  neither  bullying  nor  exclaiming  to  the  heavens 
against  some  featherweight  cross,  he  coaxes  women  as  a 
child  coaxes  its  nurse  when  it  wants  to  get  anything  out 
of  her. 

Higgins  [brusquely,  recognizing  her  with  unconcealed 
disappointment,  and  at  once,  babylike,  making  an  intol- 
erable grievance  of  it]  Why,  this  is  the  girl  I  jotted 
down  last  night.  Shes  no  use:  Ive  got  all  the  records 
I  want  of  the  Lisson  Grove  lingo;  and  I'm  not  going  to 
waste  another  cylinder  on  it.  [To  the  gii-l]  Be  off  with 
you:  I  dont  want  you. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Dont  you  be  so  saucy.  You 
aint  heard  what  I  come  for  yet.  [To  Mrs.  Pearce,  who 
is  waiting  at  the  door  for  further  instruction]  Did  you 
tell  him  I  come  in  a  taxi.'' 

Mrs.  Pearce,  Nonsense,  girl !  what  do  you  think  a 
gentleman  like  Mr.  Higgins  cares  what  you  came  in? 

The  Flower  Girl.  Oh,  we  are  proud !  He  aint 
above  giving  lessons,  not  him :  I  heard  him  say  so.  Well, 
I  aint  come  here  to  ask  for  any  compliment;  and  if  my 
money's  not  good  enough  I  can  go  elsewhere. 

Higgins.     Good  enough  for  what? 

The  Flower  Girl.  Good  enough  for  ye-oo.  Now 
you  know,  dont  you?  I'm  come  to  have  lessons,  I  am. 
And  to  pay  for  em  too:  make  no  mistake. 

Higgins  [stupent]  Well  !  !  !  [Recovering  his  breath 
with  a  gasp]   What  do  you  expect  me  to  say  to  you? 

The  Flower  Girl.  Well,  if  you  was  a  gentleman, 
you  might  ask  me  to  sit  down,  I  think.  Dont  I  tell 
you  I'm  bringing  you  business  ? 


Act  11  Pygmalion  131 

HiGGiNs.  Pickering:  shall  we  ask  this  baggage  to  sit 
down  or  shall  we  throw  her  out  of  the  window  ? 

The  Flower  Girl  [running  away  in  terror  to  the 
piano,  where  she  turns  at  hay^  Ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-ow-oo ! 
[Wounded  and  whimpering]  I  wont  be  called  a  baggage 
when  Ive  offered  to  pay  like  any  lady. 

Motionless,  the  two  men  stare  at  her  from  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  amazed. 

Pickering  [gently]  What  is  it  you  want,  my  girl? 

The  Flower  Girl.  I  want  to  be  a  lady  in  a  flower  shop 
stead  of  selling  at  the  corner  of  Tottenham  Court  Road. 
But  they  wont  take  me  unless  I  can  talk  more  genteel. 
He  said  he  could  teach  me.  Well,  here  I  am  ready  to  pay 
him — not  asking  any  favor — and  he  treats  me  as  if  I  was 
dirt. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  How  can  you  be  such  a  foolish  ignorant 
girl  as  to  think  you  could  afford  to  pay  Mr.  Higgins.'' 

The  Flower  Girl.  Why  shouldnt  I .''  I  know  what 
lessons  cost  as  well  as  you  do;  and  Fm  ready  to  pay. 

Higgins.    How  much.'' 

The  Flower  Girl  [coming  hack  to  Mm,  triumphant^ 
Now  youre  talking !  I  thought  youd  come  off  it  when 
you  saw  a  chance  of  getting  back  a  bit  of  what  you 
chucked  at  me  last  night.  [Confidentially^  Youd  had  a 
drop  in,  hadnt  you? 

Higgins    [peremptorily]    Sit  down. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Oh,  if  youre  going  to  make  a  com- 
pliment of  it — 

Higgins  [thundering  at  her']   Sit  down. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [severely^  Sit  down,  girl.  Do  as  youre 
told.  [She  places  the  stray  chair  near  the  hearthrug  be- 
tween Higgins  and  Pickering,  and  stands  behind  it  wait- 
ing for  the  girl  to  sit  down^. 

The  Flower  Girl.  Ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-oo !  [She  stands, 
half  rebellious,  half  bewildered]. 

Pickering  [very  courteous^  Wont  you  sit  down.^ 


132  Pygmalion  Act  II 

Liza    [coyly']   Dont  mind  if   I   do.      [She  sits  down. 
Pickering  returns  to  the  hearthrug], 
HiGGiNs.   Whats  your  name? 
The  Flower  Girl.    Liza  Doolittle. 
HiGGiNs   [declaiming  gravely] 

Eliza,  Elizabeth,  Betsy  and  Bess, 
They  went  to  the  woods  to  get  a  birds  nes': 
Pickering.  They  found  a  nest  with  four  eggs  in  it: 
HiGGiNS.       They  took  one  apiece,  and  left  three  in  it. 

They  laugh  heartily  at  their  orvn  wit. 

Liza.    Oh,  dont  be  silly. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  You  mustnt  speak  to  the  gentleman  like 
that. 

Liza.    Well,  why  wont  he  speak  sensible  to  me? 

HiGGiNs.  Come  back  to  business.  How  much  do  you 
propose  to  pay  me  for  the  lessons  ? 

Liza.  Oh,  I  know  whats  right.  A  lady  friend  of  mine 
gets  French  lessons  for  eighteenpence  an  hour  from  a  real 
French  gentleman.  Well,  you  wouldnt  have  the  face  to 
ask  me  the  same  for  teaching  me  my  own  language  as  you 
would  for  French;  so  I  wont  give  more  than  a  shilling. 
Take  it  or  leave  it. 

HiGGiNs  [walking  up  and  down  the  room,  rattling  his 
keys  and  his  cash  in  his  pockets]  You  know,  Pickering,  if 
you  consider  a  shilling,  not  as  a  simple  shilling,  but  as  a 
percentage  of  this  girl's  income,  it  works  out  as  fully 
equivalent  to  sixty  or  seventy  guineas  from  a  millionaire. 

Pickering.   How  so? 

HiGGiNs.  Figure  it  out.  A  millionaire  has  about  £150 
a  day.     She  earns  about  half-a-crown. 

Liza  [haughtily]  Who  told  you  I  only — 

HiGGiNs  [continuing]  She  offers  me  two-fifths  of  her 
day's  income  for  a  lesson.  Two-fifths  of  a  millionaire's 
income  for  a  day  would  be  somewhere  about  £60.  It's 
handsome.  By  George,  it's  enormous!  it's  the  biggest 
offer  I  ever  had. 


Act  II  Pygmalion  133 

Liza  [rising,  terrified^  Sixty  pounds !  What  are  you 
talking  about?  I  never  offered  you  sixty  pounds.  Where 
would  I  get — 

HiGGiNs.     Hold  your  tongue. 

Liza  [weeping^  But  I  aint  got  sixty  pounds.   Oh — 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Dont  cry,  you  silly  girl.  Sit  down. 
Nobody  is  going  to  touch  your  money. 

HiGGiNs.  Somebody  is  going  to  touch  you,  with  a 
broomstick,  if  you  dont  stop  snivelling.     Sit  down. 

Liza  [obeying  slo7vly^  Ah-ah-ah-ow-oo-o !  One  would 
think  you  was  my  father. 

HiGGiNS.  If  I  decide  to  teach  you,  I'll  be  worse  than 
two  fathers  to  you.  Here  [he  offers  her  his  silk  handker- 
chief^ ! 

Liza.    Whats  this  for? 

HiGGiNs.  To  wipe  your  eyes.  To  wipe  any  part  of 
your  face  that  feels  moist.  Remember:  thats  your  hand- 
kerchief; and  thats  your  sleeve.  Dont  mistake  the  one 
for  the  other  if  you  wish  to  become  a  lady  in  a  shop. 

Lisa,  utterly  heivildered,  stares  helplessly  at  him. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  It's  no  use  talking  to  her  like  that,  Mr. 
Higgins :  she  doesnt  understand  you.  Besides,  youre 
quite  wrong:  she  doesnt  do  it  that  way  at  all  [she  takes 
the  handkerchief^ . 

Liza  [snatching  it]  Here!  You  give  me  that  handker- 
chief.    He  give  it  to  me,  not  to  you. 

Pickering  [laughing]  He  did.  I  think  it  must  be  re- 
garded as  her  property,  Mrs.  Pearce. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [resigning  herself]  Serve  you  right,  Mr. 
Higgins. 

Pickering.  Higgins:  I'm  interested.  What  about  the 
ambassador's  garden  party?  I'll  say  youre  the  greatest 
teacher  alive  if  you  make  that  good.  I'll  bet  you  all  the 
expenses  of  the  experiment  you  cant  do  it.  And  I'll  pay 
for  the  lessons. 

Liza.   Oh,  you  are  real  good.    Thank  you.  Captain, 


134  Pygmalion  Act  II 

HiGGiNS  [tempted,  looking  at  her]  It's  almost  irresist- 
ible.    Shes  so  delieiously  low — so  horribly  dirty — 

Liza  [protesting  extremely]  Ah-ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-oo- 
oo ! ! !  I  aint  dirty :  I  washed  my  face  and  hands  afore  I 
come^  I  did. 

Pickering.  Youre  certainly  not  going  to  turn  her 
head  with  flattery,  Higgins. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [uneasy]  Oh,  dont  say  that,  sir:  theres 
more  ways  than  one  of  turning  a  girl's  head;  and  nobody 
can  do  it  better  than  Mr.  Higgins,  though  he  may  not 
always  mean  it.  I  do  hope,  sir,  you  wont  encourage  him 
to  do  anything  foolish. 

Higgins  [becoming  excited  as  the  idea  grows  on  him] 
What  is  life  but  a  series  of  inspired  follies  ?  The  difficulty 
is  to  find  them  to  do.  Never  lose  a  chance:  it  doesnt 
come  every  day.  I  shall  make  a  duchess  of  this  draggle- 
tailed  guttersnipe. 

Liza  [strongly  deprecating  this  view  of  her]  Ah-ah- 
ah-ow-ow-oo ! 

Higgins  [carried  away]  Yes:  in  six  months — in  three 
if  she  has  a  good  ear  and  a  quick  tongue- — I'll  take  her 
anywhere  and  pass  her  off  as  anything.  We'll  start  to- 
day :  now !  this  moment !  Take  her  away  and  clean  her, 
Mrs.  Pearce.  Monkey  Brand,  if  it  wont  come  off  any 
other  way.     Is  there  a  good  fire  in  the  kitchen.'' 

Mrs.  Pearce   [protesting].     Yes;  but — 

Higgins  [storming  on]  Take  all  her  clothes  off  and 
burn  them.  Ring  up  Wliiteley  or  somebody  for  new  ones. 
Wrap  her  up  in  brown  paper  til  they  come. 

Liza.  Youre  no  gentleman,  youre  not,  to  talk  of  such 
things.  I'm  a  good  girl,  I  am;  and  I  know  what  the  like 
of  you  are,  I  do. 

Higgins.  We  want  none  of  your  Lisson  Grove  prudery 
here,  young  woman.  Youve  got  to  learn  to  behave  like  a 
duchess.  Take  her  away,  Mrs.  Pearce.  If  she  gives  you 
any  trouble  wallop  her. 


Act  Pygmalion  135 

Liza  \^springing  up  and  running  between  Pickering 
and  Mrs.  Pearce  for  protection]  No!  I'll  call  the  police, 
I  will. 

Mrs.  Pearce.    But  Ive  no  place  to  put  her. 

HiGGiNS.     Put  her  in  the  dustbin. 

Liza.    Ah-ah-ah-ow-ow-oo ! 

Pickering.     Oh  come,  Higgins !  be  reasonable. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [resolutely]  You  must  be  reasonable,  Mr. 
Higgins:  really  you  must.  You  cant  walk  over  every- 
body like  this. 

Higgins,  thus  scolded,  subsides.  The  hurricane  is  suc- 
ceeded by  a  zephyr  of  amiable  surprise. 

Higgins  [with  professional  exquisiteness  of  modula- 
tion] I  walk  over  everybody !  My  dear  Mrs.  Pearce, 
my  dear  Pickering,  I  never  had  the  slightest  intention  of 
walking  over  anyone.  All  I  propose  is  that  we  should 
be  kind  to  this  poor  girl.  We  must  help  her  to  prepare 
and  fit  herself  for  her  new  station  in  life.  If  I  did  not 
express  myself  clearly  it  was  because  I  did  not  wish  to 
hurt  her  delicacy,  or  yours. 

Liza,  reassured,  steals  bach  to  her  chair. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [to  Pickering]  Well,  did  you  ever  hear 
anything  like  that,  sir? 

Pickering  [laughing  heartily]  Never,  Mrs.  Pearce: 
never. 

Higgins  [patiently]  Whats  the  matter? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Well,  the  matter  is,  sir,  that  you  cant 
take  a  girl  up  like  that  as  if  you  were  picking  up  a 
pebble  on  the  beach. 

Higgins.     Why  not? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Why  not !  But  you  dont  know  any- 
thing about  her.  What  about  her  parents?  She  may  be 
married. 

Liza.     Garn ! 

Higgins.  There !  As  the  girl  very  properly  says, 
Garn !  Married  indeed !  Dont  you  know  that  a  woman  of 


136  Pygmalion  Act  II 

that  class  looks  a  worn  out  drudge  of  fifty  a  year  after 
shes  married. 

Liza.     Whood  marry  me.'' 

HiGGiNs  [suddenly  resorting  to  the  most  tkrillingly 
beautiful  lotv  tones  in  his  best  elocutionary  style]  By 
George,  Eliza,  the  streets  will  be  strewn  with  the  bodies 
of  men  shooting  themselves  for  your  sake  before  Ive  done 
with  you. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Nonsense,  sir.  You  mustnt  talk  like 
that  to  her. 

Liza  [rising  and  squaring  herself  determinedly^  I'm 
going  away.  He's  off  his  chump,  he  is.  I  dont  want  no 
balmies  teaching  me. 

HiGGiNs  [wounded  in  his  tenderest  point  by  her  insen- 
sibility to  his  elocution]  Oh,  indeed!  I'm  mad,  am  I.'' 
Very  well,  Mrs.  Pearce :  you  neednt  order  the  new  clothes 
for  her.     Throw  her  out. 

Liza  [whimpering]  Nah-ow.  You  got  no  right  to 
touch  me. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  You  see  now  what  comes  of  being 
saucy.     [Indicating  the  door]  This  way,  please. 

Liza  [almost  in  tears]  I  didnt  want  no  clothes.  I 
wouldnt  have  taken  them  [she  throws  aivay  the  handker- 
chief].    I  can  buy  my  own  clothes. 

HiGGiNS  [deftly  retrieving  the  handkerchief  and  inter- 
cepting her  on  her  reluctant  way  to  the  door]  Youre  an 
ungrateful  wicked  girl.  This  is  my  return  for  offering 
to  take  you  out  of  the  gutter  and  dress  you  beautifully 
and  make  a  lady  of  you. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Stop,  Mr.  Higgins.  I  wont  allow  it. 
It's  you  that  are  wicked.  Go  home  to  your  parents,  girl ; 
and  tell  them  to  take  better  care  of  you. 

Liza.  I  aint  got  no  parents.  They  told  me  I  was  big 
enough  to  earn  my  own  living  and  turned  me  out. 

Mrs.  Pearce.     Wlieres  your  mother? 

Liza.     I  aint  got  no  mother.    Her  that  turned  me  out 


Act  II  Pygmalion  137 

was  my  sixth  stepmother.  But  I  done  without  them.  And 
I'm  a  good  girl,  I  am. 

HiGGiNs.  Very  well,  then,  what  on  earth  is  all  this 
fuss  about  .^  The  girl  doesnt  belong  to  anybody — is  no 
use  to  anybody  but  me.  [//e  goes  to  Mrs.  Pearce  and  he- 
gins  coaxing].  You  can  adopt  her,  Mrs.  Pearce:  I'm 
sure  a  daughter  would  be  a  great  amusement  to  you.  Now 
dont  make  any  more  fuss.     Take  her  downstairs;  and — 

Mrs.  Pearce.  But  whats  to  become  of  her.''  Is  she  to 
be  paid  anything?     Do  be  sensible,  sir. 

HiGGiNS.  Oh,  pay  her  whatever  is  necessary:  put  it 
down  in  the  housekeeping  book.  [Impatiently]  What  on 
earth  will  she  want  with  money  .^  She'll  have  her  food 
and  her  clothes.     She'll  only  drink  if  you  give  her  money. 

Liza  [^turning  on  him]  Oh  you  are  a  brute.  It's  a  lie: 
nobody  ever  saw  the  sign  of  liquor  on  me.  [She  goes 
back  to  her  chair  and  plants  herself  there  defiantly]. 

Pickering  [in  good-humored  remonstrance]  Does  it 
occur  to  you,  Higgins,  that  the  girl  has  some  feelings  ? 

HiGGiNs  \looking  critically  at  her]  Oh  no,  I  dont  think 
so.  Not  any  feelings  that  we  need  bother  about. 
[Cheerily]  Have  you,  Eliza? 

Liza.     I  got  my  feelings  same  as  anyone  else. 

Higgins  [to  Pickering,  reflectively]  You  see  the  diffi- 
culty ? 

Pickering.    Eh?    What  difficulty? 

Higgins.  To  get  her  to  talk  grammar.  The  mere  pro- 
nunciation is  easy  enough. 

Liza.  I  dont  want  to  talk  grammar.  I  want  to  talk 
like  a  lady. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Will  you  please  keep  to  the  point,  Mr. 
Higgins.  I  want  to  know  on  what  terms  the  girl  is  to  be 
here.  Is  she  to  have  any  wages  ?  And  what  is  to  become 
of  her  when  youve  finished  your  teaching?  You  must 
look  ahead  a  little. 


138  Pygmalion  Act  II 

HiGGiNs  [impatiently'}  Whats  to  become  of  her  if  I 
leave  her  in  the  gutter?     Tell  me  that,  Mrs.  Pearce. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Thats  her  own  business,  not  yours, 
Mr.  Higgins. 

HiGGiNS.  Well,  when  Ive  done  with  her,  we  can  throw 
her  back  into  the  gutter;  and  then  it  will  be  her  own 
business  again;  so  thats  all  right. 

Liza.  Oh,  youve  no  feeling  heart  in  you:  you  dont  care 
for  nothing  but  yourself  [she  rises  and  takes  the  floor 
resolutely}.  Here!  Ive  had  enough  of  this.  I'm  going 
[making  for  the  door}.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,  you  ought. 

Higgins  [snatching  a  chocolate  cream  from  the  piano, 
his  eyes  suddenly  beginni7ig  to  twinkle  with  mischief} 
Have  some  chocolates,  Eliza. 

Liza  [halting,  tempted}  How  do  I  know  what  might  be 
in  them?  Ive  heard  of  girls  being  drugged  by  the  like 
of  you. 

Higgins  whips  out  his  penknife;  cuts  a  chocolate  in 
two;  puts  one  half  into  his  mouth  and  bolts  it;  and  offers 
her  the  other  half. 

Higgins.  Pledge  of  good  faith,  Eliza.  I  eat  one  half: 
you  eat  the  other.  [Lisa  opens  her  mouth  to  retort:  he 
pops  the  half  chocolate  into  it}.  You  shall  have  boxes 
of  them,  barrels  of  them,  every  day.  You  shall  live  on 
them.  Eh? 

Liza  [tvho  has  disposed  of  the  chocolate  after  being 
nearly  choked  by  it}  I  wouldnt  have  ate  it,  only  I'm  too 
ladylike  to  take  it  out  of  my  mouth. 

Higgins.  Listen,  Eliza.  I  think  you  said  you  came  in 
a  taxi. 

Liza.  Well,  what  if  I  did?  Ive  as  good  a  right  to  take 
a  taxi  as  anyone  else. 

Higgins.  You  have,  Eliza;  and  in  future  you  shall 
have  as  many  taxis  as  you  want.     You  shall  go  up  and 


Act  II  Pygmalion  139 

down  and  round  the  town  in  a  taxi  every  day.  Think  of 
that,  Eliza. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Mr.  Higgins:  youre  tempting  the  girl. 
It's  not  right.     She  should  think  of  the  future. 

Higgins.  At  her  age !  Nonsense !  Time  enough  to 
think  of  the  future  when  you  havnt  any  future  to  think 
of.  No,  Eliza:  do  as  this  lady  does:  think  of  other 
people's  futures;  but  never  think  of  your  own.  Think 
of  chocolates,  and  taxis,  and  gold,  and  diamonds. 

Liza.  No:  I  dont  want  no  gold  and  no  diamonds. 
I'm  a  good  girl,  I  am.  \^She  sits  down  again,  with  an 
attempt  at  dignity^. 

Higgins.  You  shall  remain  so,  Eliza,  under  the  care  of 
Mrs.  Pearce.  And  you  shall  marry  an  officer  in  the 
Guards,  with  a  beautiful  moustache:  the  son  of  a  mar- 
quis, who  will  disinherit  him  for  marrying  you,  but  will 
relent  when  he  sees  your  beauty  and  goodness — 

Pickering.  Excuse  me,  Higgins;  but  I  really  must 
interfere.  Mrs.  Pearce  is  quite  right.  If  this  girl  is 
to  put  herself  in  your  hands  for  six  months  for  an  ex- 
periment in  teaching,  she  must  understand  thoroughly 
what  shes  doing. 

Higgins.  How  can  she?  Shes  incapable  of  under- 
standing anything.  Besides,  do  any  of  us  understand 
what  we  are  doing?    If  we  did,  would  we  ever  do  it? 

Pickering.  Very  clever,  Higgins;  but  not  sound 
sense.     [To  Eliza'\   Miss  Doolittle — 

Liza  ^overwhelmed^  Ah-ah-ow-oo ! 

Higgins.  There !  Thats  all  you  get  out  of  Eliza. 
Ah-ah-ow-oo !  No  use  explaining.  As  a  military  man  you 
ought  to  know  that.  Give  her  her  orders :  thats  what  she 
wants.  Eliza:  you  are  to  live  here  for  the  next  six 
months,  learning  how  to  speak  beautifully,  like  a  lady  in 
a  florist's  shop.  If  youre  good  and  do  whatever  youre 
told,  you  shall  sleep  in  a  proper  bedroom,  and  have  lots 
to  eat,  and  money  to  buy  chocolates  and  take  rides  in 


140  Pygmalion  Act  II 

taxis.  If  youre  naughty  and  idle  you  will  sleep  in  the 
back  kitchen  among  the  black  beetles,  and  be  walloped 
by  Mrs.  Pearce  with  a  broomstick.  At  the  end  of  six 
months  you  shall  go  to  Buckingham  Palace  in  a  carriage, 
beautifully  dressed.  If  the  King  finds  out  youre  not  a 
lady,  you  will  be  taken  by  the  police  to  the  Tower  of 
London,  where  your  head  will  be  cut  off  as  a  warning  to 
other  presumptuous  flower  girls.  If  you  are  not  found 
out,  you  shall  have  a  present  of  seven-and-sixpence  to 
start  life  with  as  a  lady  in  a  shop.  If  you  refuse  this 
offer  you  will  be  a  most  ungrateful  and  wicked  girl;  and 
the  angels  will  weep  for  you.  [To  Pickering^  Now  are 
you  satisfied,  Pickering?  [To  Mrs.  Pearce]  Can  I  put  it 
more  plainly  and  fairly,  Mrs.  Pearce? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [patiently]  I  think  youd  better  let  me 
speak  to  the  girl  properly  in  private.  I  dont  know  that 
I  can  take  charge  of  her  or  consent  to  the  arrangement 
at  all.  Of  course  I  know  you  dont  mean  her  any  harm; 
but  when  you  get  what  you  call  interested  in  people's  ac- 
cents, you  never  think  or  care  what  may  happen  to  them 
or  you.     Come  with  me,  Eliza. 

HiGGiNs.  Thats  all  right.  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pearce. 
Bundle  her  off  to  the  bath-room. 

Liza  [rising  reluctantly  and  suspiciously]  Youre  a 
great  bully,  you  are.  I  wont  stay  here  if  I  dont  like.  I 
wont  let  nobody  wallop  me.  I  never  asked  to  go  to  Buck- 
nam  Palace,  I  didnt.  I  was  never  in  trouble  with  the 
police,  not  me.     I'm  a  good  girl — 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Dont  answer  back,  girl.  You  dont 
understand  the  gentleman.  Come  with  me.  [She  leads 
the  way  to  the  door,  and  holds  it  open  for  Eli^^a]. 

Liza  [as  she  goes  out]  Well,  what  I  say  is  right.  I 
wont  go  near  the  king,  not  if  I'm  going  to  have  my  head 
cut  off.  If  I'd  known  what  I  was  letting  myself  in  for, 
I  wouldnt  have  come  here.  I  always  been  a  good  girl; 
and  I  never  offered  to  say  a  word  to  him ;  and  I  dont  owe 


Act  II  Pygmalion  141 

him  nothing;  and  I  dont  care;  and  I  wont  be  put  upon; 
and  I  have  my  feelings  the  same  as  anyone  else — 

Mrs.  Pearce  shuts  the  door;  and  Eliza's  plaints  are  no 
longer  audible.  Pickering  comes  from  the  hearth  to  the 
chair  and  sits  astride  it  with  his  arms  on  the  back, 

Pickering,  Excuse  the  straight  question,  Higgins. 
Are  you  a  man  of  good  character  where  women  are  con- 
cerned ? 

Higgins  [moodily']  Have  you  ever  met  a  man  of  good 
character  where  women  are  concerned  ? 

Pickering.  Yes:  very  frequently. 

Higgins  [dogmatically,  lifting  himself  on  his  hands  to 
the  level  of  the  piano,  and  sitting  on  it  with  a  bounce] 
Well,  I  havnt.  I  find  that  the  moment  I  let  a  woman 
make  friends  with  me,  she  becomes  jealous,  exacting, 
suspicious,  and  a  damned  nuisance.  I  find  that  the  mo- 
ment I  let  myself  make  friends  with  a  woman,  I  become 
selfish  and  tyrannical.  Women  upset  everything.  When 
you  let  them  into  your  life,  you  find  that  the  woman  is 
driving  at  one  thing  and  youre  driving  at  another. 

Pickering.  At  what,  for  example? 

Higgins  [coming  off  the  piano  restlessly]  Oh,  Lord 
knows!  I  suppose  the  woman  wants  to  live  her  own  life; 
and  the  man  wants  to  live  his ;  and  each  tries  to  drag  the 
other  on  to  the  wrong  track.  One  wants  to  go  north  and 
the  other  south ;  and  the  result  is  that  both  have  to  go  east, 
though  they  both  hate  the  east  wind.  [He  sits  down  on 
the  bench  at  the  keyboard].  So  here  I  am,  a  confirmed 
old  bachelor,  and  likely  to  remain  so. 

Pickering  [rising  and  standing  over  him  gravely] 
Come,  Higgins !  You  know  what  I  mean.  If  I'm  to  be  in 
this  business  I  shall  feel  responsible  for  that  girl.  I 
hope  it's  understood  that  no  advantage  is  to  be  taken  of 
her  position. 

Higgins.  What!  That  thing!  Sacred,  I  assure  you. 
[Rising  to  cjcplain]  You  see,  she'll  be  a  pupil;  and  teach- 


142  Pygmalion  Act  II 

ing  would  be  impossible  unless  pupils  were  sacred.  Ive 
taught  scores  of  American  millionairesses  how  to  speak 
English:  the  best  looking  women  in  the  world.  I'm 
seasoned.  They  might  as  well  be  blocks  of  wood.  / 
might  as  well  be  a  block  of  wood.     It's — 

Mrs.  Pearce  opens  the  door.  She  has  Eliza's  hat  in  her 
hand.  Pickering  retires  to  the  easy-chair  at  the  hearth 
and  sits  down. 

HiGGiNs  [eagerly'}  Well,  Mrs.  Pearce:  is  it  all  right? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [at  the  door}  I  just  wish  to  trouble  you 
with  a  word,  if  I  may,  Mr.  Higgins. 

HiGGiNs.  Yes,  certainly.  Come  in.  [She  comes  for- 
ward]. Dont  burn  that,  Mrs.  Pearce.  I'll  keep  it  as  a 
curiosity.     [He  takes  the  hat]. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Handle  it  carefully,  sir,  please.  I  had 
to  promise  her  not  to  burn  it;  but  I  had  better  put  it  in 
the  oven  for  a  while. 

Higgins  [putting  it  down  hastily  on  the  piano]  Oh! 
thank  you.     Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me .'' 

Pickering.    Am  I  in  the  way? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Not  at  all,  sir.  Mr.  Higgins:  will  you 
please  be  very  particular  what  you  say  before  the  girl? 

Higgins  [sternly]  Of  course.  I'm  always  particular 
about  what  I  say.    Why  do  you  say  this  to  me  ? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [unmoved]  No,  sir:  youre  not  at  all  par- 
ticular when  youve  mislaid  anything  or  when  you  get  a 
little  impatient.  Now  it  doesnt  matter  before  me:  I'm 
used  to  it.     But  you  really  must  not  swear  before  the  girl. 

Higgins  [indignantly]  I  swear!  [Most  emphatically] 
I  never  swear.  I  detest  the  habit.  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [stolidly]  Thats  what  I  mean,  sir.  You 
swear  a  great  deal  too  much.  I  dont  mind  your  damning 
and  blasting,  and  what  the  devil  and  where  the  devil  and 
who  the  devil — 


Act  II  Pygmalion  143 

HiGGiNs.  Mrs.  Pearce :  this  language  from  your  lips ! 
Really ! 

Mrs.  Pearce  [not  to  be  put  off] — but  there  is  a  cer- 
tain word  I  must  ask  you  not  to  use.  The  girl  has  just 
used  it  herself  because  the  bath  was  too  hot.  It  begins 
with  the  same  letter  as  bath.  She  knows  no  better:  she 
learnt  it  at  her  mother's  knee.  But  she  must  not  hear  it 
from  your  lips. 

HiGGiNs  [loftily]  I  cannot  charge  myself  with  having 
ever  uttered  it,  Mrs.  Pearce.  [She  looks  at  him  stead- 
fastly. He  adds,  hiding  an  uneasy  conscience  with  a 
judicial  air]  Except  perhaps  in  a  moment  of  extreme  and 
justifiable  excitement. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Only  this  morning,  sir,  you  applied  it 
to  your  boots,  to  the  butter,  and  to  the  brown  bread. 

HiGGiNS.  Oh,  that !  Mere  alliteration,  Mrs.  Pearce, 
natural  to  a  poet. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Well,  sir,  whatever  you  choose  to  call  it, 
I  beg  you  not  to  let  the  girl  hear  you  repeat  it. 

HiGGiNs.    Oh,  very  well,  very  well.     Is  that  all  ? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  No,  sir.  We  shall  have  to  be  very  par- 
ticular with  this  girl  as  to  personal  cleanliness. 

HiGGiNS.    Certainly.     Quite  right.     Most  important. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  I  mean  not  to  be  slovenly  about  her 
dress  or  untidy  in  leaving  things  about. 

HiGGiNs  [going  to  her  solemnly]  Just  so.  I  intended 
to  call  your  attention  to  that  [He  passes  on  to  Pickering, 
who  is  enjoying  the  conversation  immensely].  It  is  these 
little  things  that  matter,  Pickering.  Take  care  of  the 
pence  and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of  themselves  is  as 
true  of  personal  habits  as  of  money.  [He  comes  to  anchor 
on  the  hearthrug,  with  the  air  of  a  man  in  an  unassail- 
able position]. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Yes,  sir.  Then  might  I  ask  you  not  to 
come  down  to  breakfast  in  your  dressing-gown,  or  at 
any  rate  not  to  use  it  as  a  napkin  to  the  extent  you  do. 


144  Pygmalion  Act  II 

sir.  And  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  not  to  eat  every- 
thing off  the  same  plate,  and  to  remember  not  to  put  the 
porridge  saucepan  out  of  your  hand  on  the  clean  table- 
cloth, it  would  be  a  better  example  to  the  girl.  You 
know  you  nearly  choked  yourself  with  a  fishbone  in  the 
jam  only  last  week. 

HiGGiNs  [routed  from  the  hearthrug  and  drifting  back 
to  the  piano]  I  may  do  these  things  sometimes  in  absence 
of  mind;  but  surely  I  dont  do  them  habitually.  [Angrilyl 
By  the  way:  my  dressing-gown  smells  most  damnably  of 
benzine. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  No  doubt  it  does,  Mr.  Higgins.  But  if 
you  will  wipe  your  fingers — 

Higgins  [yelling]  Oh  very  well,  very  well:  I'll  wipe 
them  in  my  hair  in  future. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  I  hope  youre  not  offended,  Mr.  Higgins. 

Higgins  [shocked  at  finding  himself  thought  capable 
of  an  unamiable  sentiment]  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  Youre 
quite  right,  Mrs.  Pearce:  I  shall  be  particularly  careful 
before  the  girl.     Is  that  all? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  No,  sir.  Might  she  use  some  of  those 
Japanese  dresses  you  brought  from  abroad?  I  really 
cant  put  her  back  into  her  old  things. 

Higgins.    Certainly.    Anything  you  like.     Is  that  all? 

Mrs.  Pearce.  Thank  you,  sir.  Thats  all.  [She  goes 
out]. 

Higgins.  You  know,  Pickering,  that  woman  has  the 
most  extraordinary  ideas  about  me.  Here  I  am,  a  shy, 
diffident  sort  of  man.  Ive  never  been  able  to  feel  really 
grown-up  and  tremendous,  like  other  chaps.  And  yet 
shes  firmly  persuaded  that  I'm  an  arbitrary  overbearing 
bossing  kind  of  person.     I  cant  account  for  it. 

Mrs.  Pearce  returns. 

Mrs.  Pearce.  If  you  please,  sir,  the  trouble's  be- 
ginning already.     Theres  a  dustman  downstairs,  Alfred 


Act  II  Pygmalion  145 

Doolittle,  wants  to  see  you.     He  says  you  have  his  daugh- 
ter here. 

Pickering  [rismg]  Phew!  I  say!  [He  retreats  to  the 
hearthrug^. 

HiGGiNs  [promptly]  Send  the  blackguard  up. 

Mrs.  Pearce.   Oh,  very  well,  sir.    [She  goes  out], 

Pickering.    He  may  not  be  a  blackguard,  Higgins. 

HiGGiNs.    Nonsense.     Of  course  hes  a  blackguard. 

Pickering.  Whether  he  is  or  not,  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
have  some  trouble  with  him. 

Higgins  [confidently]  Oh  no:  I  think  not.  If  theres 
any  trouble  he  shall  have  it  with  me,  not  I  with  him.  And 
we  are  sure  to  get  something  interesting  out  of  him. 

Pickering.    About  the  girl? 

Higgins.    No.     I  mean  his  dialect. 

Pickering.    Oh ! 

Mrs.  Pearce  [at  the  door]  Doolittle,  sir.  [She  admits 
Doolittle  and  retires], 

Alfred  Doolittle  is  an  elderly  but  vigorous  dustman, 
clad  in  the  costume  of  his  profession,  including  a  hat  with 
a  back  brim  covering  his  neck  and  shoulders.  He  has  well 
marked  and  rather  interesting  features,  and  seems  equally 
free  from  fear  and  conscience.  He  has  a  remarkably  ex- 
pressive voice,  the  result  of  a  habit  of  giving  vent  to  his 
feelings  without  reserve.  His  present  pose  is  that  of 
wounded  honor  and  stern  resolution. 

Doolittle  [at  the  door,  uncertain  which  of  the  two 
gentlemen  is  his  man]  Professor  Higgins? 

Higgins.    Here.     Good  morning.     Sit  down. 

Doolittle.  Morning,  Governor.  [He  sits  down  magis- 
terially] I  come  about  a  very  serious  matter.  Governor. 

Higgins  [to  Pickering]  Brought  up  in  Hounslow. 
Mother  Welsh,  I  should  think.  [Doolittle  opens  his 
month,  amazed.  Higgins  continues]  What  do  you  want, 
Doolittle? 

18 


146  Pygmalion  Act  II 

DooLiTTLE  [menacingly]  I  want  my  daughter:  thats 
what  I  want.     See? 

HiGGiNS.  Of  course  you  do.  Youre  her  father,  arnt 
you?  You  dont  suppose  anyone  else  wants  her,  do  you? 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  have  some  spark  of  family  feeling 
left,     Shes  upstairs.     Take  her  away  at  once. 

DooLiTTLE   [rising,  fearfully  taken  aback]   What! 

HiGGiNs.  Take  her  away.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going 
to  keep  your  daughter  for  you  ? 

DooLiTTLE  [remonstrating]  Now,  now,  look  here. 
Governor.  Is  this  reasonable?  Is  it  fairity  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  a  man  like  this  ?  The  girl  belongs  to  me.  You 
got  her.    Where  do  I  come  in?    [He  sits  down  again]. 

HiGGiNS.  Your  daughter  had  the  audacity  to  come  to 
my  house  and  ask  me  to  teach  her  how  to  speak  properly 
so  that  she  could  get  a  place  in  a  flower-shop.  This  gen- 
tleman and  my  housekeeper  have  been  here  all  the  time. 
[Bullying  him]  How  dare  you  come  here  and  attempt  to 
blackmail  me  ?     You  sent  her  here  on  purpose. 

DooLiTTLE   [protesting]  No,  Governor. 

HiGGiNs.  You  must  have.  How  else  could  you  possibly 
know  that  she  is  here? 

DooLiTTLE.   Dont  take  a  man  up  like  that.  Governor. 

HiGGiNs.  The  police  shall  take  you  up.  This  is  a 
plant — a  plot  to  extort  money  by  threats.  I  shall  tele- 
phone for  the  police  [he  goes  resolutely  to  the  telephone 
and  opens  the  directory]. 

DooLiTTLE.  Have  I  asked  you  for  a  brass  farthing? 
I  leave  it  to  the  gentleman  here :  have  I  said  a  word  about 
money  ? 

HiGGiNs  [throrving  the  hook  aside  and  marching  down 
on  Doolittle  with  a  poser]  What  else  did  you  come  for? 

DooLiTTLE  [sweetly]  Well,  what  would  a  man  come 
for?    Be  human,  Governor. 

HiGGiNs  [disarmed]  Alfred:  did  you  put  her  up  to  it? 

Doolittle.    So  help  me.  Governor,  I  never  did.     I 


Act  II  Pygmalion  147 

take  my  Bible  oath  I  aint  seen  the  girl  these  two  months 
past. 

HiGGiNs.    Then  how  did  you  know  she  was  here? 

DooLiTTLE  [^"most  musical,  most  melancholy"]  I'll  tell 
you.  Governor,  if  youll  only  let  me  get  a  word  in.  I'm 
willing  to  tell  you.  I'm  wanting  to  tell  you.  I'm  waiting 
to  tell  you. 

HiGGiNs.  Pickering:  this  chap  has  a  certain  natural 
gift  of  rhetoric.  Observe  the  rhythm  of  his  native  wood- 
notes  wild.  "I'm  willing  to  tell  you:  I'm  wanting  to  tell 
you:  I'm  waiting  to  tell  you."  Sentimental  rhetoric !  thats 
the  Welsh  strain  in  him.  It  also  accounts  for  his  men- 
dacity and  dishonesty. 

Pickering.  Oh,  please,  Higgins:  I'm  west  country 
myself.  [To  Doolittle]  How  did  you  know  the  girl  was 
here  if  you  didnt  send  her? 

Doolittle.  It  was  like  this.  Governor.  The  girl  took 
a  boy  in  the  taxi  to  give  him  a  jaunt.  Son  of  her  land- 
lady, he  is.  He  hung  about  on  the  chance  of  her  giving 
him  another  ride  home.  Well,  she  sent  him  back  for  her 
luggage  when  she  heard  you  was  willing  for  her  to  stop 
here.  I  met  the  boy  at  the  corner  of  Long  Acre  and 
Endell  Street. 

Higgins.    Public  house.     Yes? 

Doolittle.  The  poor  man's  club.  Governor:  why 
shouldnt  I  ? 

Pickering.    Do  let  him  tell  his  story,  Higgins. 

Doolittle.  He  told  me  what  was  up.  And  I  ask  you, 
what  was  my  feelings  and  my  duty  as  a  father?  I  says 
to  the  boy,  "You  bring  me  the  luggage,"  I  says — 

Pickering.   Why  didnt  you  go  for  it  yourself? 

Doolittle.  Landlady  wouldnt  have  trusted  me  with 
it,  Governor.  Shes  that  kind  of  woman:  you  know.  I 
had  to  give  the  boy  a  penny  afore  he  trusted  me  with  it, 
the  little  swine.  I  brought  it  to  her  just  to  oblige  you 
like,  and  make  myself  agreeable.     Thats  all. 


148  Pygmalion  Act  II 

HiGGiNS.   How  much  luggage? 

DooLiTTLE.  Musical  instrument,  Governor.  A  few 
pictures,  a  trifle  of  jewelry,  and  a  bird-cage.  She  said 
she  didnt  want  no  clothes.  What  was  I  to  think  from 
that,  Governor.''  I  ask  you  as  a  parent  what  was  I  to 
think? 

HiGGiNs.  So  you  came  to  rescue  her  from  worse  than 
death,  eh? 

DooLiTTLE  [appreciatively:  relieved  at  being  so  well 
understood]  Just  so.  Governor.     Thats  right. 

Pickering.  But  why  did  you  bring  her  luggage  if  you 
intended  to  take  her  away? 

DooLiTTLE.  Have  I  said  a  word  about  taking  her 
away?     Have  I  now? 

HiGGiNs  ^determinedly]  Youre  going  to  take  her  away, 
double  quick,  [i/e  crosses  to  the  hearth  and  rings  the 
bell]. 

DooLiTTLE  [rising]  No,  Governor.  Dont  say  that.  I'm 
not  the  man  to  stand  in  my  girl's  light.  Heres  a  career 
opening  for  her,  as  you  might  say;  and — 

Mrs.  Pearce  opens  the  door  and  arvaits  orders. 

HiGGiNs.  Mrs.  Pearce:  this  is  Eliza's  father.  He  has 
come  to  take  her  away.  Give  her  to  him.  [He  goes  back 
to  the  piano,  with  an  air  of  washing  his  hands  of  the 
whole  affair]. 

DooLiTTLE.  No.  This  is  a  misunderstanding.  Listen 
here — 

Mrs.  Pearce.  He  cant  take  her  away,  Mr.  Higgins: 
how  can  he?    You  told  me  to  burn  her  clothes. 

DooLiTTLE.  Thats  right.  I  cant  carry  the  girl  through 
the  streets  like  a  blooming  monkey,  can  I  ?  I  put  it  to  you. 

Higgins.  You  have  put  it  to  me  that  you  want  your 
daughter.  Take  your  daughter.  If  she  has  no  clothes 
go  out  and  buy  her  some. 

DooLiTTLE  [desperate]  Wheres  the  clothes  she  come 
in?   Did  I  burn  them  or  did  your  missus  here? 


Act  II  Pygmalion  149 

Mrs.  Pearce.  I  am  the  housekeeper,  if  you  please.  I 
have  sent  for  some  clothes  for  your  girl.  When  they 
come  you  can  take  her  away.  You  can  wait  in  the  kitchen. 
This  way,  please. 

Doolittle,  much  troubled,  accompanies  her  to  the  door; 
then  hesitates;  finally  turns  confidentially  to  Higgins. 

Doolittle.  Listen  here.  Governor.  You  and  me  is 
men  of  the  world,  aint  we  ? 

Higgins.  Oh !  Men  of  the  world,  are  we  ?  Youd  bet- 
ter go,  Mrs.  Pearce. 

Mrs,  Pearce.  I  think  so,  indeed,  sir,  [She  goes,  with 
dignity^. 

Pickering.   The  floor  is  yours,  Mr.  Doolittle. 

Doolittle  [to  Pickering^  I  thank  you.  Governor.  [To 
Higgins,  who  takes  refuge  on  the  piano  bench,  a  little 
overwhelmed  by  the  proximity  of  his  visitor;  for  Doolittle 
has  a  professional  flavor  of  dust  about  him^.  Well,  the 
truth  is,  Ive  taken  a  sort  of  fancy  to  you.  Governor;  and 
if  you  want  the  girl,  I'm  not  so  set  on  having  her  back 
home  again  but  what  I  might  be  open  to  an  arrangement. 
Regarded  in  the  light  of  a  young  woman,  shes  a  fine 
handsome  girl.  As  a  daughter  shes  not  worth  her  keep ; 
and  so  I  tell  you  straight.  All  I  ask  is  my  rights  as  a 
father;  and  youre  the  last  man  alive  to  expect  me  to  let 
her  go  for  nothing;  for  I  can  see  youre  one  of  the  straight 
sort,  Governor.  Well,  whats  a  five  pound  note  to  you? 
And  whats  Eliza  to  me.''  [He  returns  to  his  chair  and  sits 
down  judicially^. 

Pickering.  I  think  you  ought  to  know,  Doolittle,  that 
Mr.  Higgins's  intentions  are  entirely  honorable. 

Doolittle.  Course  they  are.  Governor.  If  I  thought 
they  wasnt.  Id  ask  fifty. 

Higgins  [revolted]  Do  you  mean  to  say,  you  callous 
rascal,  that  you  would  sell  your  daughter  for  £50? 

Doolittle.    Not  in  a  general  way  I  wouldnt;  but  to 


150  Pygmalion  Act  II 

oblige  a  gentleman  like  you  I'd  do  do  a  good  deal,  I  do 
assure  you. 

Pickering.    Have  you  no  morals,  man? 

DooLiTTLE  [unabashed]  Cant  afford  them.  Governor. 
Neither  could  you  if  you  was  as  poor  as  me.  Not  that  I 
mean  any  harm,  you  know.  But  if  Liza  is  going  to  have 
a  bit  out  of  this,  why  not  me  too  ? 

HiGGiNs  [troubled]  I  dont  know  what  to  do,  Pickering. 
There  can  be  no  question  that  as  a  matter  of  morals  it's 
a  positive  crime  to  give  this  chap  a  farthing.  And  yet  I 
feel  a  sort  of  rough  justice  in  his  claim. 

DooLiTTLE.  Thats  it,  Governor.  Thats  all  I  say.  A 
father's  heart,  as  it  were. 

Pickering.  Well,  I  know  the  feeling;  but  really  it 
seems  hardly  right — 

DooLiTTLE.  Dont  say  that,  Governor.  Dont  look  at  it 
that  way.  What  am  I,  Governors  both .''  I  ask  you,  what 
am  I  ?  I'm  one  of  the  undeserving  poor:  thats  what  I  am. 
Think  of  what  that  means  to  a  man.  It  means  that  hes  up 
agen  middle  class  morality  all  the  time.  If  theres  any- 
thing going,  and  I  put  in  for  a  bit  of  it,  it's  always  the 
same  story:  "Youre  undeserving;  so  you  cant  have  it." 
But  my  needs  is  as  great  as  the  most  deserving  widow's 
that  ever  got  money  out  of  six  different  charities  in  one 
week  for  the  death  of  the  same  husband.  I  dont  need  less 
than  a  deserving  man:  I  need  more.  I  dont  eat  less 
hearty  than  him ;  and  I  drink  a  lot  more.  I  want  a  bit  of 
amusement,  cause  I'm  a  thinking  man.  I  want  cheerful- 
ness and  a  song  and  a  band  when  I  feel  low.  Well,  they 
charge  me  just  the  same  for  everything  as  they  charge 
the  deserving.  What  is  middle  class  morality?  Just  an 
excuse  for  never  giving  me  anything.  Therefore,  I  ask 
you,  as  two  gentlemen,  not  to  play  that  game  on  me. 
I'm  playing  straight  with  you.  I  aint  pretending  to  be 
deserving.  I'm  undeserving;  and  I  mean  to  go  on  being 
undeserving.     I  like  it;  and  thats  the  truth.     Will  you 


Act  II  Pygmalion  151 

take  advantage  of  a  man's  nature  to  do  him  out  of  the 
price  of  his  own  daughter  what  hes  brought  up  and  fed 
and  clothed  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  until  shes  growed 
big  enough  to  be  interesting  to  you  two  gentlemen?  Is 
five  pounds  unreasonable?  I  put  it  to  you;  and  I  leave 
it  to  you. 

HiGGiNs  [rising,  and  going  over  to  Pickeringi  Picker- 
ing: if  we  were  to  take  this  man  in  hand  for  three  months, 
he  could  choose  between  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet  and  a  popu- 
lar pulpit  in  Wales. 

Pickering.    What  do  you  say  to  that,  Doolittle? 

DooLiTTLE.  Not  me,  Governor,  thank  you  kindly.  Ive 
heard  all  the  preachers  and  all  the  prime  ministers — for 
I'm  a  thinking  man  and  game  for  politics  or  religion  or 
social  reform  same  as  all  the  other  amusements — and  I 
tell  you  it's  a  dog's  life  anyway  you  look  at  it.  Unde- 
serving poverty  is  my  line.  Taking  one  station  in  society 
with  another,  it's — it's — well,  it's  the  only  one  that  has 
any  ginger  in  it,  to  my  taste. 

HiGGiNs.    I  suppose  we  must  give  him  a  fiver. 

Pickering.    He'll  make  a  bad  use  of  it,  I'm  afraid. 

Doolittle.  Not  me.  Governor,  so  help  me  I  wont. 
Dont  you  be  afraid  that  I'll  save  it  and  spare  it  and  live 
idle  on  it.  There  wont  be  a  penny  of  it  left  by  Monday: 
I'll  have  to  go  to  work  same  as  if  I'd  never  had  it.  It 
wont  pauperize  me,  you  bet.  Just  one  good  spree  for 
myself  and  the  missus,  giving  pleasure  to  ourselves  and 
employment  to  others,  and  satisfaction  to  you  to  think  it's 
not  been  throwed  away.     You  couldnt  spend  it  better. 

HiGGiNs  [talcing  out  his  pocket  book  and  coming  be- 
trveen  Doolittle  and  the  piano^  This  is  irresistible.  Lets 
give  him  ten.    [He  offers  two  notes  to  the  dustman'\. 

Doolittle.  No,  Governor.  She  wouldnt  have  the 
heart  to  spend  ten ;  and  perhaps  I  shouldnt  neither.  Ten 
pounds  is  a  lot  of  money:  it  makes  a  man  feel  prudent 
like ;  and  then  goodbye  to  happiness.    You  give  me  what 


152  Pygmalion  Act  II 

I  ask  you.  Governor:  not  a  penny  more,  and  not  a  penny 
less. 

Pickering.  Why  dont  you  marry  that  missus  of  yours? 
I  rather  draw  the  line  at  encouraging  that  sort  of  im- 
morality. 

DooLiTTLE.  Tell  her  so,  Governor:  tell  her  so.  I'm 
willing.  It's  me  that  suffers  by  it.  Ive  no  hold  on  her. 
I  got  to  be  agreeable  to  her.  I  got  to  give  her  presents. 
I  got  to  buy  her  clothes  something  sinful.  I'm  a  slave  to 
that  woman.  Governor,  just  because  I'm  not  her  lawful 
husband.  And  she  knows  it  too.  Catch  her  marrying 
me !  Take  my  advice.  Governor :  marry  Eliza  while  shes 
young  and  dont  know  no  better.  If  you  dont  youll  be 
sorry  for  it  after.  If  you  do,  she'll  be  sorry  for  it  after; 
but  better  you  than  her,  because  youre  a  man,  and  shes 
only  a  woman  and  dont  know  how  to  be  happy  anyhow. 

HiGGiNS.  Pickering:  if  we  listen  to  this  man  another 
minute,  we  shall  have  no  convictions  left.  [To  Doolittlel 
Five  pounds  I  think  you  said. 

DooLiTTLE.    Thank  you  kindly.  Governor. 

HiGGiNs.    Youre  sure  you  wont  take  ten  ? 

DooLiTTLE.    Not  now.    Another  time.  Governor. 

HiGGiNs  [handing  him  a  five-pound  note]  Here  you  are. 

DooLiTTLE.  Thank  you.  Governor.  Good  morning. 
[He  hurries  to  the  door,  anxious  to  get  away  with  his 
booty.  When  he  opens  it  he  is  confronted  with  a  dainty 
and  exquisitely  clean  young  Japanese  lady  in  a  simple 
bhie  cotton  kimono  printed  cunningly  with  small  white 
jasmine  blossoms.  Mrs.  Pearce  is  with  her.  He  gets  out 
of  her  way  deferentially  and  apologizes].  Beg  pardon, 
miss. 

The  Japanese  Lady.  Gam !  Dont  you  know  your  own 
daughter .'' 

DooLiTTLE  1  exclaiming  f  Bly  me!   it's  Eliza! 

HiGGiNs        [      simul-      i  Whats  that !    This ! 

Pickering  J    taneously    [  By  Jove  ! 


Act  II  Pygmalion  153 

Liza.    Dont  I  look  silly  ? 

HiGGiNs.    Silly  ? 

Mrs,  Pearce  [at  the  doorl  Now,  Mr.  Higgins,  please 
dont  say  anything  to  make  the  girl  conceited  about  her- 
self. 

Higgins  [conscientiouslyl  Oh!  Quite  right,  Mrs. 
Pearce.     [To  Eliza]  Yes:  damned  silly. 

Mrs.  Pearce.   Please,  sir. 

Higgins    [correcting  himself]  I  mean  extremely  silly. 

Liza.  I  should  look  all  right  with  my  hat  on.  [She 
takes  up  her  hat;  puts  it  on;  and  walks  across  the  room 
to  the  fireplace  tvith  a  fashionable  air]. 

Higgins.  A  new  fashion,  by  George !  And  it  ought  to 
look  horrible ! 

Doo LITTLE  [ivith  fatherli/  pride]  Well,  I  never  thought 
she'd  clean  up  as  good  looking  as  that.  Governor.  Shes 
a  credit  to  me,  aint  she  ? 

Liza.  I  tell  you,  it's  easy  to  clean  up  here.  Hot  and 
cold  water  on  tap,  just  as  much  as  you  like,  there  is. 
Woolly  towels,  there  is ;  and  a  towel  horse  so  hot,  it  burns 
your  fingers.  Soft  brushes  to  scrub  yourself,  and  a 
wooden  bowl  of  soap  smelling  like  primroses.  Now  I 
know  why  ladies  is  so  clean.  Washing's  a  treat  for  them. 
Wish  they  saw  what  it  is  for  the  like  of  me ! 

Higgins.  I'm  glad  the  bath-room  met  with  your  ap- 
proval. 

Liza.  It  didnt :  not  all  of  it ;  and  I  dont  care  who  hears 
me  say  it.     Mrs.  Pearce  knows. 

Higgins.   What  was  wrong,  Mrs.  Pearce? 

Mrs.  Pearce  [blandly]  Oh,  nothing,  sir.  It  doesnt 
matter. 

Liza.  I  had  a  good  mind  to  break  it.  I  didnt  know 
which  way  to  look.     But  I  hung  a  towel  over  it,  I  did. 

Higgins.   Over  what.'' 

Mrs.  Pearce.    Over  the  looking-glass,  sir. 


154  Pygmalion  Act  II 

HiGGiNS.  Doolittle:  you  have  brought  your  daughter 
up  too  strictly. 

Doolittle.  Me !  I  never  brought  her  up  at  all,  except 
to  give  her  a  lick  of  a  strap  now  and  again.  Dont  put  it 
on  me,  Governor.  She  aint  accustomed  to  it,  you  see: 
thats  all.  But  she'll  soon  pick  up  your  free-and-easy 
ways. 

Liza.  I'm  a  good  girl,  I  am;  and  I  wont  pick  up  no 
free  and  easy  ways. 

HiGGiNs.  Eliza:  if  you  say  again  that  youre  a  good 
girl,  your  father  shall  take  you  home. 

Liza.  Not  him.  You  dont  know  my  father.  All  he 
come  here  for  was  to  touch  you  for  some  money  to  get 
drunk  on. 

Doolittle.  Well,  what  else  would  I  want  money  for? 
To  put  into  the  plate  in  church,  I  suppose.  [She  puts  out 
her  tongue  at  him.  He  is  so  incensed  by  this  that  Picker- 
ing presently  finds  it  necessary  to  step  between  them^. 
Dont  you  give  me  none  of  your  lip;  and  dont  let  me  hear 
you  giving  this  gentleman  any  of  it  neither,  or  youll  hear 
from  me  about  it.     See? 

HiGGiNs.  Have  you  any  further  advice  to  give  her 
before  you  go,  Doolittle?     Your  blessing,  for  instance. 

Doolittle.  No,  Governor:  I  aint  such  a  mug  as  to  put 
up  my  children  to  all  I  know  myself.  Hard  enough  to 
hold  them  in  without  that.  If  you  want  Eliza's  mind  im- 
proved, Governor,  you  do  it  yourself  with  a  strap.  So 
long,  gentlemen.    [He  turns  to  go^. 

HiGGiNs  [impressively]  Stop.  Youll  come  regularly 
to  see  your  daughter.  It's  your  duty,  you  know.  My 
brother  is  a  clergyman;  and  he  could  help  you  in  your 
talks  with  her. 

Doolittle  [evasively]  Certainly,  I'll  come,  Gov- 
ernor. Not  just  this  week,  because  I  have  a  job  at  a  dis- 
tance. But  later  on  you  may  depend  on  me.  Afternoon, 
gentlemen.     Afternoon,  maam.    [He  takes  off  his  hat  to 


Act  II  Pygmalion  155 

Mrs.  Pearce,  who  disdains  the  salutation  and  goes  out. 
He  winks  at  Higgins,  thinking  him  probably  a  fellow- 
sufferer  from  Mrs.  Pearce's  difficult  disposition,  and  fol- 
lows her]. 

Liza.  Dont  you  believe  the  old  liar.  He'd  as  soon  you 
set  a  bull-dog  on  him  as  a  clergyman.  You  wont  see  him 
again  in  a  hurry. 

HiGGiNs.    I  dont  want  to,  Eliza.     Do  you? 

Liza.  Not  me.  I  dont  want  never  to  see  him  again,  I 
dont.  Hes  a  disgrace  to  me,  he  is,  collecting  dust,  in- 
stead of  working  at  his  trade. 

Pickering.     What  is  his  trade,  Eliza? 

Liza.  Talking  money  out  of  other  people's  pockets  into 
his  own.  His  proper  trade's  a  navvy;  and  he  works  at 
it  sometimes  too — for  exercise — and  earns  good  money 
at  it.    Aint  you  going  to  call  me  Miss  Doolittle  any  more  ? 

Pickering.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Doolittle.  It  was 
a  slip  of  the  tongue. 

Liza.  Oh,  I  dont  mind;  only  it  sounded  so  genteel.  I 
should  just  like  to  take  a  taxi  to  the  corner  of  Tottenham 
Court  Road  and  get  out  there  and  tell  it  to  wait  for  me, 
just  to  put  tlie  girls  in  their  place  a  bit.  I  wouldnt  speak 
to  them,  you  know. 

Pickering.  Better  wait  til  we  get  you  something 
really  fashionable. 

Higgins.  Besides,  you  shouldnt  cut  your  old  friends 
now  that  you  have  risen  in  the  world.  Thats  what  we  call 
snobbery. 

Liza.  You  dont  call  the  like  of  them  my  friends  now, 
I  should  hope.  Theyve  took  it  out  of  me  often  enough 
with  their  ridicule  when  they  had  tlie  chance ;  and  now  I 
mean  to  get  a  bit  of  my  own  back.  But  if  I'm  to  have 
fashionable  clothes,  I'll  wait.  I  should  like  to  have 
some.  Mrs,  Pearce  says  youre  going  to  give  me  some  to 
wear  in  bed  at  night  different  to  what  I  wear  in  the  day- 
time; but  it  do  seem  a  waste  of  money  when  you  could 


156  Pygmalion  Act  II 

get  something  to  shew.  Besides,  I  never  could  fancy 
changing  into  cold  things  on  a  winter  night. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [coming  back']  Now,  Eliza.  The  new 
things  have  come  for  you  to  try  on. 

Liza.   Ah-ow-oo-ooh !    [She  rushes  out']. 

Mrs.  Pearce  [following  her]  Oh,  dont  rush  about  like 
that,  girl    [She  shuts  the  door  behind  her]. 

HiGGiNs.     Pickering:  we  have  taken  on  a  stiff  job. 

Pickering  [with  conviction]  Higgins:  we  have. 


ACT  III 

It  is  Mrs.  Higgins's  at-home  day.  Nobody  has  yet  ar- 
rived. Her  drawing-room,  in  a  flat  on  Chelsea  embank- 
ment, has  three  windows  looking  on  the  river;  and  the 
ceiling  is  not  so  lofty  as  it  would  be  in  an  older  house  of 
the  same  pretension.  The  windows  are  open,  giving  access 
to  a  balcony  with  flowers  in  pots.  If  you  stand  with  your 
face  to  the  windows,  you  have  the  fireplace  on  your  left 
and  the  door  in  the  right-hand  wall  close  to  the  corner 
nearest  the  rvindows. 

Mrs.  Higgins  was  brought  up  on  Morris  and  Burne 
Jones;  and  her  room,  which  is  very  unlike  her  son's  room 
in  Wimpole  Street,  is  not  crowded  with  furniture  and 
little  tables  and  nicknacks.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
there  is  a  big  ottoman;  and  this,  with  the  carpet,  thei 
Morris  wall-papers ,  and  the  Morris  chintz  window  cur- 
tains and  brocade  covers  of  the  ottoman  and  its  cushions, 
supply  all  the  ornament,  and  are  much  too  handsome  to 
be  hidden  by  odds  and  ends  of  useless  things.  A  few  good 
oil-paintings  from  the  exhibitions  in  the  Grosvenor  Gal- 
lery thirty  years  ago  (the  Burne  Jones,  not  the  Whistler 
side  of  them)  are  on  the  walls.  The  only  landscape  is  a 
Cecil  Lawson  on  the  scale  of  a  Rubens.  There  is  a  por- 
trait of  Mrs.  Higgins  as  she  was  when  she  defied  fashion 
in  her  youth  in  one  of  the  beautiful  Rossettian  costumes 
which,  when  caricatured  by  people  who  did  not  under- 
stand, led  to  the  absurdities  of  popular  estheticism  in  the 
eighteen-seventies. 

In  the  corner  diagonally  opposite  the  door  Mrs.  Hig- 
gins, now  over  sixty  and  long  past  taking  the  trouble  to 

157 


158  Pygmalion  Act  III 

dress  out  of  the  fashion,  sits  writing  at  an  elegantly 
simple  writing-table  with  a  bell  button  within  reach  of 
her  hand.  There  is  a  Chippendale  chair  further  back  in 
the  room  between  her  and  the  window  nearest  her  side. 
At  the  other  side  of  the  room,  further  forward,  is  an 
Elizabethan  chair  roughly  carved  in  the  taste  of  Inigo 
Jones.  On  the  same  side  a  piano  in  a  decorated  case.  The 
corner  between  the  fireplace  and  the  window  is  occupied 
by  a  divan  cushioned  in  Morris  chintz. 

It  is  between  four  and  five  in  the  afternoon. 

The  door  is  opened  violently;  and  Higgins  enters  with 
his  hat  on. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [dismayed]  Henry  [scolding  him]  ! 
What  are  you  doing  here  to-day?  It  is  my  at-home  day: 
you  promised  not  to  come.  [As  he  bends  to  kiss  her,  she 
takes  his  hat  off,  and  presents  it  to  him]. 

Higgins.  Oh  bother!  [He  throws  the  hat  down  on  the 
table]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Go  home  at  once. 

Higgins  [kissing  her]  I  know,  mother.  I  came  on  pur- 
pose. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  But  you  mustnt.  I'm  serious,  Henry. 
You  offend  all  my  friends:  they  stop  coming  whenever 
they  meet  you. 

Higgins.  Nonsense!  I  know  I  have  no  small  talk;  but 
people  dont  mind.    [He  sits  on  the  settee]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Oh!  dont  they?  Small  talk  indeed! 
What  about  your  large  talk?  Really,  dear,  you  mustnt 
stay. 

Higgins.    I  must.    Ive  a  job  for  you.   A  phonetic  job. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  No  use,  dear.  I'm  sorry;  but  I  cant 
get  round  your  vowels;  and  though  I  like  to  get  pretty 
postcards  in  your  patent  shorthand,  I  always  have  to  read 
the  copies  in  ordinary  writing  you  so  thoughtfully  send 
me. 

Higgins.    Well,  this  isnt  a  phonetic  job. 


Act  III  Pygmalion  159 

Mrs.  Higgins.    You  said  it  was. 

HiGGiNS.    Not  your  part  of  it.    Ive  picked  up  a  girl. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Does  that  mean  that  some  girl  has 
picked  you  up? 

Higgins.    Not  at  all.     I  dont  mean  a  love  affair. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   What  a  pity ! 

Higgins.    Why.^ 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Well,  you  never  fall  in  love  with  any- 
one under  forty-five.  When  will  you  discover  that  there 
are  some  rather  nice-looking  young  women  about.'' 

Higgins.  Oh,  I  cant  be  bothered  with  young  women. 
My  idea  of  a  loveable  woman  is  something  as  like  you  as 
possible.  I  shall  never  get  into  the  way  of  seriously 
liking  young  women:  some  habits  lie  too  deep  to  be 
changed.  [Rising  abruptly  and  walking  about,  jingling 
his  money  and  his  keys  in  his  trouser  pockets]  Besides, 
theyre  all  idiots. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Do  you  know  what  you  would  do  if  you 
really  loved  me,  Henry.'' 

Higgins.   Oh  bother!  What.''   Marry,  I  suppose? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  No.  Stop  fidgeting  and  take  your 
hands  out  of  your  pockets.  [With  a  gesture  of  despair, 
he  obeys  and  sits  down  again].  Thats  a  good  boy.  Now 
tell  me  about  the  girl. 

Higgins.    Shes  coming  to  see  you. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    I  dont  remember  asking  her. 

Higgins.  You  didnt.  /  asked  her.  If  youd  known  her 
you  wouldnt  have  asked  her. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Indeed!    Why? 

Higgins.  Well,  it's  like  this.  Shes  a  common  flower 
girl.     I  picked  her  off  the  kerbstone. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   And  invited  her  to  my  at-home ! 

Higgins  [rising  and  coining  to  her  to  coax  her]  Oh, 
thatll  be  all  right.  Ive  taught  her  to  speak  properly; 
and  she  has  strict  orders  as  to  her  behavior.  Shes  to  keep 
to  two  subjects:  the  weather  and  everybody's  health — 


160  Pygmalion  Act  III 

Fine  day  and  How  do  you  do,  you  know — and  not  to  let 
herself  go  on  things  in  general.     That  will  be  safe. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Safe !  To  talk  about  our  health !  about 
our  insides !  perhaps  about  our  outsides !  How  could  you 
be  so  silly,  Henry.? 

Higgins  [impatiently']  Well,  she  must  talk  about 
something.  [He  controls  himself  and  sits  down  again]. 
Oh,  she'll  be  all  right:  dont  you  fuss.  Pickering  is  in  it 
with  me.  Ive  a  sort  of  bet  on  that  I'll  pass  her  off  as  a 
duchess  in  six  months.  I  started  on  her  some  months 
ago ;  and  shes  getting  on  like  a  house  on  fire.  I  shall  win 
my  bet.  She  has  a  quick  ear;  and  shes  been  easier  to 
teach  than  my  middle-class  pupils  because  shes  had  to 
learn  a  complete  new  language.  She  talks  English 
almost  as  you  talk  French. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   Thats  satisfactory,  at  all  events. 

Higgins.   Well,  it  is  and  it  isnt. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    What  does  that  mean? 

Higgins.  You  see,  Ive  got  her  pronunciation  all  right; 
but  you  have  to  consider  not  only  how  a  girl  pronounces, 
but  what  she  pronounces ;  and  thats  where — 

They  are  interrupted  by  the  parlor-maid,  announcing 
guests. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Mrs.  and  Miss  Eynsford  Hill. 
[She  withdraws]. 

Higgins.  Oh  Lord !  [He  rises;  snatches  his  hat  from 
the  table;  and  makes  for  the  door;  but  before  he  reaches 
it  his  mother  introduces  hi7n]. 

Mrs.  and  Miss  Eynsford  Hill  are  the  mother  and 
daughter  who  sheltered  from  the  rain  in  Covent  Garden. 
The  mother  is  well  bred,  quiet,  and  has  the  habitual 
anxiety  of  straitened  means.  The  daughter  has  acquired 
a  gay  air  of  being  very  much  at  home  in  society:  the 
bravado  of  genteel  poverty. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [to  Mrs.  Higgins]  How  do  you 
do.''  [They  shake  hands]. 


Act  III  Pygmalion  161 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill.   How  d'you  do?  [She  shaJces]. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [iutroducing]   My  son  Henry. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  Your  celebrated  son !  I  have  so 
longed  to  meet  you,  Professor  Higgins. 

Higgins  [gliwily,  making  no  movement  in  her  direc- 
tion] Delighted.  [He  backs  against  the  piano  arid  hows 
brusquely]. 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill  [going  to  him  with  confident 
familiarity]  How  do  you  do? 

Higgins  [staring  at  her]  Ive  seen  you  before  some- 
where. I  havnt  the  ghost  of  a  notion  where;  but  Ive 
heard  your  voice.  [Drearily]  It  doesnt  matter.  Youd 
better  sit  down. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  my  celebrated 
son  has  no  manners.     You  mustnt  mind  him. 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill  [gaily]  I  dont.  [She  sits  in  the 
Elizabethan  chair]. 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill  [a  little  bewildered]  Not  at  all. 
[She  sits  on  the  ottoman  between  her  daughter  and  Mrs. 
Higgins,  who  has  turned  her  chair  away  from  the  writ- 
ing-table]. 

Higgins.   Oh,  have  I  been  rude?   I  didnt  mean  to  be. 

He  goes  to  the  central  window,  through  which,  with  his 
hack  to  the  company,  he  contemplates  the  river  and  the 
flowers  in  Battersea  Park  on  the  opposite  bank  as  if  they 
were  a  frozen  desert. 

The  parlor-maid  returns,  ushering  in  Pickering, 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Colonel  Pickering  [She  with- 
draws]. 

Pickering.    How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Higgins? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  So  glad  youve  come.  Do  you  know 
Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill — Miss  Eynsford  Hill?  [Exchange 
of  hows.  The  Colonel  brings  the  Chippendale  chair  a 
little  forward  between  Mrs.  Hill  and  Mrs.  Higgins,  and 
sita  down]. 
19 


162  Pygmalion  Act  III 

Pickering.  Has  Henry  told  you  what  weve  come 
for? 

HiGGiNs  [over  his  shoulder]  We  were  interrupted: 
damn  it ! 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Oh  Henry^  Henry,  really ! 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [half  rising]  Are  we  in  the  way? 

Mrs.  Higgins  [rising  and  making  her  sit  down  again] 
No,  no.  You  couldnt  have  come  more  fortunately:  we 
want  you  to  meet  a  friend  of  ours. 

Higgins  [turning  hopefully]  Yes,  by  George!  We 
want  two  or  three  people.  Youll  do  as  well  as  anybody 
else. 

The  parlor-maid  returns,  ushering  Freddy. 

The  Parlor-Maid.     Mr.  Eynsford  Hill. 

Higgins  [almost  audibly,  past  endurance]  God  of 
Heaven  !  another  of  them. 

Freddy  [shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Higgins]  Ahdedo? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Very  good  of  you  to  come.  [Introduc- 
ing] Colonel  Pickering. 

Freddy  [bowing]  Ahdedo? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  I  dont  think  you  know  my  son.  Pro- 
fessor Higgins. 

Freddy  [going  to  Higgins]  Ahdedo? 

Higgins  [looking  at  him  much  as  if  he  were  a  pick- 
pocket] I'll  take  my  oath  Ive  met  you  before  somewhere. 
Where  was  it? 

Freddy.    I  dont  think  so. 

Higgins  [resignedly]  It  dont  matter,  anyhow.  Sit 
down. 

He  shakes  Freddy's  hand,  and  almost  slings  him  on 
the  ottoman  with  his  face  to  the  windows;  then  comes 
round  to  the  other  side  of  it. 

Higgins.  Well,  here  we  are,  anyhow  !  [He  sits  down  on 
the  ottoman  next  Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill,  on  her  left].  And 
now,  what  the  devil  are  we  going  to  talk  about  vmtil 
Eliza  comes? 


Act  III  Pygmalion  163 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Henry:  you  are  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  Royal  Society's  soirees;  but  really  youre  rather  try- 
ing on  more  commonplace  occasions. 

Higgins.  Am  I  ?  Very  sorry.  [Beajning  suddenly~\  I 
suppose  I  am^  you  know.     [Uproariously]  Ha,  ha! 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill  [who  considers  Higgins  quite 
eligible  matrimonially]  I  sympathize.  I  havnt  any  small 
talk.  If  people  would  only  be  frank  and  say  what  they 
really  think ! 

Higgins  [relapsing  into  gloom]  Lord  forbid! 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [taking  up  her  daughter's  ewe] 
But  why? 

Higgins.  What  they  think  they  ought  to  think  is  bad 
enough,  Lord  knows ;  but  what  they  really  think  would 
break  up  the  whole  show.  Do  you  suppose  it  would  be 
really  agreeable  if  I  were  to  come  out  now  with  wliat  / 
really  think? 

Miss  Eynsford  Hill  [gaily]  Is  it  so  very  cynical? 

Higgins.  Cynical !  Who  the  dickens  said  it  was  cyn- 
ical?    I  mean  it  wouldnt  be  decent. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [seriously^  Oh!  I'm  sure  you 
dont  mean  that,  Mr.  Higgins. 

Higgins.  You  see,  we're  all  savages,  more  or  less. 
We're  supposed  to  be  civilized  and  cultured— to  know  all 
about  poetry  and  philosophy  and  art  and  science,  and  so 
on;  but  how  many  of  us  know  even  the  meanings  of  these 
names?  [To  Miss  Hill]  What  do  you  know  of  poetry? 
[To  Mrs.  Hill]  What  do  you  know  of  science?  [Indicat- 
ing Freddy]  What  does  he  know  of  art  or  science  or  any- 
thing else?  What  the  devil  do  you  imagine  I  know  of 
philosophy? 

Mrs.  Higgins  [warningly']  Or  of  manners,  Henry? 

The  Parlor-Maid  [opening  the  door]  Miss  Doolittle. 
[She  withdraws]. 

Higgins  [rising  hastily  and  running  to  Mrs.  Higgins] 
Here  she  is,  mother.     [He  stands  on  tiptoe  and  makes 


164  Pygmalion  Act  III 

signs  over  his  mother's  head  to  Eliza  to  indicate  to  her 
which  lady  is  her  hostess^. 

Eliza,  who  is  exquisitely  dressed,  produces  an  impres' 
sion  of  such  remarkable  distinction  and  beauty  as  she 
enters  that  they  all  rise,  quite  fluttered.  Guided  by  Hig- 
gins's  signals,  she  comes  to  Mrs.  Higgins  with  studied 
grace. 

Liza  \_speaking  with  pedantic  correctness  of  pronun- 
ciation and  great  beauty  of  tone^  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Higgins  ?  \^She  gasps  slightly  in  making  sure  of  the  H  in 
Higgins,  but  is  quite  successful^.  Mr.  Higgins  told  me  I 
might  come. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [cordiallyl  Quite  right:  I'm  very  glad 
indeed  to  see  you. 

Pickering.   How  do  you  do.  Miss  Doolittle? 

Liza  [shaking  hands  with  him]  Colonel  Pickering,  is 
it  not? 

Mrs,  Eynsford  Hill.  I  feel  sure  we  have  met  before. 
Miss  Doolittle.     I  remember  your  eyes. 

Liza.  How  do  you  do?  [She  sits  down  on  the  ottoman 
gracefully  in  the  place  just  left  vacant  by  Higgins]. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [introducing]  My  daughter 
Clara. 

Liza.    How  do  you  do  ? 

Clara  [impulsively]  How  do  you  do?  [She  sits  down 
on  the  ottoman  beside  Eliza,  devouring  her  with  her 
eyes]. 

Freddy  [coming  to  their  side  of  the  ottoman]  Ive  cer- 
tainly had  the  pleasure. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [introducing]  My  son  Freddy. 

Liza.    How  do  you  do? 

Freddy  bows  and  sits  down  in  the  Elizabethan  chair, 
infatuated. 

Higgins  [suddenly]  By  George,  yes:  it  all  comes  back 
to  me!  [They  stare  at  him].  Covent  Garden!  [Lam- 
entably] What  a  damned  thing! 


Act  III  Pygmalion  165 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Henry,  please !  [He  is  about  to  sit  on 
the  edge  of  the  table].  Dont  sit  on  my  writing-table: 
youll  break  it. 

Higgins  [sulkilyl  Sorry. 

He  goes  to  the  divan,  stumbling  into  the  fender  and 
over  the  fire-irons  on  his  way;  extricating  himself  with 
muttered  imprecations;  and  finishing  his  disastrous  jour- 
ney by  throwing  himself  so  impatiently  on  the  divan  that 
he  almost  breaks  it.  Mrs.  Higgins  looks  at  him,  but  con- 
trols herself  and  says  nothing. 

A  long  and  painful  pause  ensues. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [at  last,  conversationallyl  Will  it  rain, 
do  you  think.'' 

Liza.  The  shallow  depression  in  the  west  of  these 
islands  is  likely  to  move  slowly  in  an  easterly  direction. 
There  are  no  indications  of  any  great  change  in  the  baro- 
metrical situation. 

Freddy.     Ha !  ha !  how  awfully  funny ! 

Liza.  What  is  wrong  with  that,  young  man  ?  I  bet  I 
got  it  right. 

Freddy.     Killing ! 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  wont  turn 
cold.  Theres  so  much  influenza  about.  It  runs  right 
through  our  whole  family  regularly  every  spring. 

Liza  [darkly]  My  aunt  died  of  influenza:  so  they  said 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [clicks  her  tongue  sympathetic- 
ally] ! ! ! 

Liza  [in  the  same  tragic  tone]  But  it's  my  belief  they 
done  the  old  woman  in. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [puzzled]     Done  her  in  ? 

Liza,  Y-e-e-e-es,  Lord  love  you !  Why  should  she  die 
of  influenza.''  She  come  through  diphtheria  right  enough 
the  year  before.  I  saw  her  with  my  own  eyes.  Fairly 
blue  with  it,  she  was.  They  all  thought  she  was  dead; 
but  my  father  he  kept  ladling  gin  down  her  throat  til 
she  came  to  so  sudden  that  she  bit  the  bowl  off  the  spoon. 


166  Pygmalion  Act  ITI 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [startled]  Dear  me! 

Liza  [piling  up  the  indictment]  What  call  would  a 
woman  with  that  strength  in  her  have  to  die  of  influenza? 
What  become  of  her  new  straw  hat  that  should  have 
come  to  me?  Somebody  pinched  it;  and  what  I  say  is, 
them  as  pinched  it  done  her  in. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.     What  does  doing  her  in  mean? 

HiGGiNs  [hastily]  Oh,  thats  the  new  small  talk.  To 
do  a  person  in  means  to  kill  them. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [to  Eliza,  horrified]  You  surely 
dont  believe  that  your  aunt  was  killed? 

Liza.  Do  I  not !  Them  she  lived  with  would  have 
killed  her  for  a  hat-pin,  let  alone  a  hat. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  But  it  cant  have  been  right 
for  your  father  to  pour  spirits  down  her  throat  like  that. 
It  might  have  killed  her. 

Liza.  Not  her.  Gin  was  mother's  milk  to  her.  Be- 
sides, he'd  poured  so  much  down  his  own  throat  that  he 
knew  the  good  of  it. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.     Do  you  mean  that  he  drank? 

Liza.     Drank !     My  word !     Something  chronic. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.     How  dreadful  for  you ! 

Liza.  Not  a  bit.  It  never  did  him  no  harm  what  I 
could  see.  But  then  he  did  not  keep  it  up  regular. 
[Cheerfully]  On  the  burst,  as  you  might  say,  from  time 
to  time.  And  always  more  agreeable  when  he  had  a  drop 
in.  When  he  was  out  of  work,  my  mother  used  to  give 
him  fourpence  and  tell  him  to  go  out  and  not  come  back 
until  he'd  drimk  himself  cheerful  and  loving-like. 
Theres  lots  of  women  has  to  make  their  husbands  drunk 
to  make  them  lit  to  live  with.  [Now  quite  at  her  ease] 
You  see,  it's  like  this.  If  a  man  has  a  bit  of  a  conscience, 
it  always  takes  him  when  he's  sober;  and  then  it  makes 
him  low-spirited.  A  drop  of  booze  just  takes  that  off 
and  makes  him  happy.      [To  Freddy,  rvho  is  in  convul- 


Act  III  Pygmalion  167 

sions  of  suppressed  laughter^  Here !  what  are  you  snig- 
gering at  ? 

Freddy.  The  new  small  talk.  You  do  it  so  awfully 
well. 

Liza.  If  I  was  doing  it  proper,  what  was  you  laugh- 
ing at.''  [To  Higginsi  Have  I  said  anything  I  oughtnt? 

Mrs.  Higgins  [interposing^  Not  at  all,  Miss  Doolittle. 

Liza.  Well,  thats  a  mercy,  anyhow.  [Expansively'\ 
What  I  always  say  is — 

Higgins  [rising  and  looking  at  his  watch^  Ahem ! 

Liza  [looking  round  at  him;  taking  the  hint;  and 
rising]  Well:  I  must  go.  [They  all  rise.  Freddy  goes  to 
the  door].  So  pleased  to  have  met  you.  Good-bye.  [She 
shakes  hands  with  Mrs.  Higgins]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Good-bye. 

Liza.    Good-bye,  Colonel  Pickering. 

Pickering.  Good-bye,  Miss  Doolittle.  [They  shake 
hands]. 

Liza  [nodding  to  the  others]  Good-bye,  all. 

Freddy  [opening  the  door  for  her]  Are  you  walking 
across  the  Park,  Miss  Doolittle?    If  so — 

Liza.  Walk!  Not  bloody  likely.  [Sensatioji],  I  am 
going  in  a  taxi.      [She  goes  out]. 

Pickering  gasps  and  sits  down.  Freddy  goes  out  on  the 
balcony  to  catch  another  glimpse  of  Eli::a. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [suffering  from  shock]  Well,  I 
really  cant  get  used  to  the  new  ways. 

Clara  [throwing  herself  discontentedly  into  the  Eliza- 
bethan chair].  Oh,  it's  all  right,  mamma,  quite  right. 
People  will  think  we  never  go  anywhere  or  see  anybody 
if  you  are  so  old-fashioned. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  I  daresay  I  am  very  old- 
fashioned;  but  I  do  hope  you  wont  begin  using  that  ex- 
pression, Clara.  I  have  got  accustomed  to  hear  you 
talking  about  men  as  rotters,  and  calling  everything  filthy 
and  beastly;  though  I  do  think  it  horrible  and  unlady- 


168  Pygmalion  Act  III 

like.  But  this  last  is  really  too  much.  Dont  you  think 
so.  Colonel  Pickering? 

Pickering.  Dont  ask  me.  Ive  been  away  in  India 
for  several  years;  and  manners  have  changed  so  much 
that  I  sometimes  dont  know  whether  I'm  at  a  respectable 
dinner-table  or  in  a  ship's  forecastle. 

Clara.  It's  all  a  matter  of  habit.  Theres  no  right  or 
wrong  in  it.  Nobody  means  anything  by  it.  And  it's  so 
quaint,  and  gives  such  a  smart  emphasis  to  things  that 
are  not  in  themselves  very  witty.  I  find  the  new  small 
talk  delightful  and  quite  innocent. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [rising]  Well,  after  that,  I  think 
it's  time  for  us  to  go. 

Pickering  and  Higgins  rise. 

Clara  [rising]  Oh  yes:  we  have  three  at-homes  to  go 
to  still.  Good-bye,  Mrs,  Higgins.  Good-bye,  Colonel 
Pickering.     Good-bye,  Professor  Higgins. 

Higgins  [coming  grimly  at  her  from  the  divan,  and 
accompanying  her  to  the  door]  Good-bye.  Be  sure  you 
try  on  that  small  talk  at  the  three  at-homes.  Dont  be 
nervous  about  it.     Pitch  it  in  strong. 

Clara  [all  smiles]  I  will.  Good-bye,  Such  nonsense, 
all  this  early  Victorian  prudery ! 

Higgins  [tempting  her]  Such  damned  nonsense! 

Clara.    Such  bloody  nonsense ! 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [convulsively]  Clara! 

Clara.  Ha  I  ha !  [She  goes  out  radiant,  conscious  of 
being  thoroughly  up  to  date,  and  is  heard  descending  the 
stairs  in  a  stream  of  silvery  laughter], 

Freddy  [to  the  heavens  at  large]  Well,  I  ask  you — • 
[He  gives  it  up,  and  comes  to  Mrs.  Higgins].   Good-bye. 

Mrs,  Higgins  [shaking  hands]  Good-bye.  Would  you 
like  to  meet  Miss  Doolittle  again,'' 

Freddy  [eagerly]  Yes,  I  should,  most  awfully. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   Well,  you  know  my  days. 


Act  III  Pygmalion  169 

Freddy.  Yes.  Thanks  awfully.  Good-bye.  [He  goes 
out]. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.   Good-bye,  Mr.  Higgins. 

HiGGiNs.    Good-bye.    Good-bye. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [to  Pickering]  It's  no  use.  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  bring  myself  to  use  that  word, 

Pickering.  Dont.  It's  not  compulsory,  you  know. 
Youll  get  on  quite  well  without  it. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  Only,  Clara  is  so  down  on  me 
if  I  am  not  positively  reeking  with  the  latest  slang. 
Good-bye. 

Pickering.     Good-bye  [Thei/  shake  hands], 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  [to  Mrs.  Higgins]  You  mustnt 
mind  Clara.  [Pickering,  catching  from  her  lowered  tone 
that  this  is  not  meant  for  him  to  hear,  discreetly  joins 
Higgins  at  the  window].  We're  so  poor!  and  she  gets  so 
few  parties,  poor  child !  She  doesnt  quite  know.  [Mrs. 
Higgins,  seeing  that  her  eyes  are  moist,  takes  her  hand 
sympathetically  and  goes  with  her  to  the  door].  But  the 
boy  is  nice.     Dont  you  think  so? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Oh,  quite  nice.  I  shall  always  be  de- 
lighted to  see  him. 

Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill.  Thank  you,  dear.  Good-bye. 
[She  goes  out] . 

Higgins  [eagerly]  Well?  Is  Eliza  presentable  [he 
swoops  on  his  mother  and  drags  her  to  the  ottoman, 
where  she  sits  down  in  Eliza's  place  with  her  son  on  her 
left]  ? 

Pickering  returns  to  his  chair  on  her  right. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  You  silly  boy,  of  course  shes  not  pre- 
sentable. Shes  a  triumph  of  your  art  and  of  her  dress- 
maker's; but  if  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  she  doesnt 
give  herself  away  in  every  sentence  she  utters,  you  must 
be  perfectly  cracked  about  her. 

Pickering.    But  dont  you  think  something  might  be 


170  Pygmalion  Act  III 

done?  I  mean  something  to  eliminate  the  sanguinary- 
element  from  her  conversation. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   Not  as  long  as  she  is  in  Henry's  hands. 

HiGGiNs  [aggrieved]  Do  you  mean  that  my  language 
is  improper.'' 

Mrs.  Higgins.  No,  dearest:  it  would  be  quite  proper 
— say  on  a  canal  barge;  but  it  would  not  be  proper  for 
her  at  a  garden  party. 

Higgins  [deeply  injured]  Well  I  must  say — 

Pickering  [interrupting  him]  Come,  Higgins:  you 
must  learn  to  know  yourself.  I  havnt  heard  such  lan- 
guage as  yours  since  we  used  to  review  the  volunteers  in 
Hyde  Park  twenty  years  ago. 

Higgins  [stilkily]  Oh,  well,  if  you  say  so,  I  suppose  I 
dont  always  talk  like  a  bishop. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [quieting  Henry  with  a  touch]  Colonel 
Pickering:  will  you  tell  me  what  is  the  exact  state  of 
things  in  Wimpole  Street.^ 

Pickering  [cheerfully :  as  if  this  completely  changed 
the  subject]  Well,  I  have  come  to  live  there  with  Henry. 
We  work  together  at  my  Indian  Dialects ;  and  we  think  it 
more  convenient — 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Quite  so.  I  know  all  about  that:  it's  an 
excellent  arrangement.     But  where  does  this  girl  live? 

Higgins.    With  us,  of  course.     Where  would  she  live? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  But  on  what  terms?  Is  she  a  servant? 
If  not,  what  is  she? 

Pickering  [slowly]  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean, 
Mrs.  Higgins. 

Higgins,  Well,  dash  me  if  /  do !  Ive  had  to  work  at 
the  girl  every  day  for  months  to  get  her  to  her  present 
pitch.  Besides,  shes  useful.  She  knows  where  my  things 
are,  and  remembers  my  appointments  and  so  forth. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  How  does  your  housekeeper  get  on  with 
her? 

Higgins.    Mrs.  Pearce?   Oh,  shes  jolly  glad  to  get  so 


Act  III  Pygmalion  171 

much  taken  off  her  hands;  for  before  Eliza  came,  she 
used  to  have  to  find  things  and  remind  me  of  my  ap- 
pointments. But  shes  got  some  silly  bee  in  her  bonnet 
about  Eliza.  She  keeps  saying  "You  dont  think,  sir": 
doesnt  slie,  Pick? 

Pickering.  Yes:  thats  the  formula.  "You  dont  think, 
sir."    Thats  the  end  of  every  conversation  about  Eliza. 

HiGGiNs.  As  if  I  ever  stop  thinking  about  the  girl  and 
her  confounded  vowels  and  consonants.  I'm  worn  out, 
thinking  about  her,  and  watching  her  lips  and  her  teeth 
and  her  tongue,  not  to  mention  her  soul,  which  is  the 
quaintest  of  the  lot. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  You  certainly  are  a  pretty  pair  of 
babies,  playing  with  your  live  doll. 

Higgins.  Playing!  The  hardest  job  I  ever  tackled: 
make  no  mistake  about  that,  mother.  But  you  have  no 
idea  how  frightfully  interesting  it  is  to  take  a  human 
being  and  change  her  into  a  quite  different  human  being 
by  creating  a  new  speech  for  her.  It's  filling  up  the  deep- 
est gulf  that  separates  class  from  class  and  soul  from 
soul. 

Pickering  [drawing  his  chair  closer  to  Mrs.  Higgins 
and  bending  over  to  her  eagerly^  Yes:  it's  enormously  in- 
teresting. I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Higgins,  we  take  Eliza 
very  seriously.  Every  week — every  day  almost — there  is 
some  new  change.  [Closer  again]  We  keep  records  of 
every  stage — dozens  of  gramophone  disks  and  photo- 
graphs— 

Higgins  [assailing  her  at  the  other  ear]  Yes,  by 
George:  it's  the  most  absorbing  experiment  I  ever 
tackled.  She  regularly  fills  our  lives  up ;  doesnt  she, 
Pick? 

Pickering.   We're  always  talking  Eliza. 

Higgins.    Teaching  Eliza. 

Pickering.    Dressing  Eliza. 

Mrs.  Higgins.   What! 


172 


Pygmalion 


Act  III 


HiGGiNs.   Inventing  new  Elizas. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 


Pickering. 


HiGGINS. 

Pickering. 


[speaJcing 
together'\ 


You  know,  she  has  the  most 
extraordinary  quickness  of 
ear: 
^  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Higgins,  that  girl 

just  like  a  parrot.  Ive  tried 
her  with  every 

is  a  genius.  She  can  play 
the  piano  quite  beautifully. 

possible  sort  of  sound  that  a 
human  being  can  make — 

We  have  taken  her  to  classi- 
cal concerts  and  to  music 
J  Continental    dialects,    Afri- 
can dialects,  Hottentot 

halls;  and  it's  all  the  same 
to  her:  she  plays  every- 
thing 

clicks,  things  it  took  me 
years  to  get  hold  of;  and 

she  hears  right  off  when  she 
comes  home,  whether  it's 

she  picks  them  up  like  a 
shot,  right  away,  as  if  she 
had 

Beethoven  and  Brahms  or 
Lehar  and  Lionel  Monck- 
ton; 

been  at  it  all  her  life. 

though  six  months  ago,  she'd 
never  as  much  as  touched 
a  piano — 

Mrs.  Higgins  [putting  her  fingers  in  her  ears,  as  they 
are  by  this  time  shouting  one  another  down  with  an 
intolerable  noise]   Sh-sh-sh — sh !   [They  stop]. 


Act  III  Pygmalion  173 

Pickering.  I  beg  your  pardon.  [He  draws  his  chair 
back  apologetically], 

HiGGiNs.  Sorry.  When  Pickering  starts  shouting  no- 
body can  get  a  word  in  edgeways. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Be  quiet,  Henry.  Colonel  Pickering: 
dont  you  realize  that  when  Eliza  walked  into  Wimpole 
Street,  something  walked  in  with  her.'' 

Pickering.  Her  father  did.  But  Henry  soon  got  rid 
of  him. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  It  would  have  been  more  to  the  point 
if  her  mother  had.  But  as  her  mother  didnt  something 
else  did. 

Pickering.    But  what.'' 

Mrs.  Higgins  [unconsciously  dating  herself  by  the 
word]  A  problem. 

Pickering.  Oh,  I  see.  The  problem  of  how  to  pass 
her  off  as  a  lady. 

Higgins.  I'll  solve  that  problem.  Ive  half  solved  it 
already. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  No,  you  two  infinitely  stupid  male 
creatures ;  the  problem  of  what  is  to  be  done  with  her 
afterwards. 

Higgins.  I  dont  see  anything  in  that.  She  can  go 
her  own  way,  with  all  the  advantages  I  have  given  her. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  The  advantages  of  that  poor  woman 
who  was  here  just  now!  The  manners  and  habits  that 
disqualify  a  fine  lady  from  earning  her  own  living  with- 
out giving  her  a  fine  lady's  income !  Is  that  what  you 
mean? 

Pickering  [indulgently,  being  rather  bored]  Oh,  that 
will  be  all  right,  Mrs.  Higgins.      [He  rises  to  go]. 

Higgins  [rising  also]  We'll  find  her  some  light  em- 
ployment. 

Pickering.  Shes  happy  enough.  Dont  you  worry 
about  her.  Good-bye.  [He  shakes  hands  as  if  he  were 
consoling  a  frightened  child,  and  makes  for  the  door]. 


174  Pygmalion  Act  III 

HiGGiNs.  Anyhow,  theres  no  good  bothering  now. 
The  things  done.  Good-bye,  mother,  [He  kisses  her, 
and  follows  Pickering] . 

Pickering  [turning  for  a  final  consolation]  There  are 
plenty  of  openings.     We'll  do  whats  right.     Good-bye. 

HiGGiNs  [to  Pickering  as  they  go  out  together]  Let's 
take  her  to  the  Shakespear  exhibition  at  Earls  Court. 

Pickering.     Yes :  lets.     Her  remarks  will  be  delicious. 

HiGGiNs.  She'll  mimic  all  the  people  for  us  when  we 
get  home. 

Pickering,  Ripping.  [Both  are  heard  laughing  as 
they  go  downstairs]. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [rises  with  an  impatient  bounce,  and 
returns  to  her  work  at  the  writing-table.  She  sweeps 
a  litter  of  disarranged  papers  out  of  her  way;  snatches 
a  sheet  of  paper  from  her  stationery  case;  and  tries  reso- 
lutely to  write.  At  the  third  line  she  gives  it  up;  flings 
down  her  pen;  grips  the  table  angrily  and  exclaims] 
Oh,  men !  men ! !  men ! ! ! 


ACT  IV 

The  Wimpole  Street  laboratory.  Midnight.  Nobody 
in  the  room.  The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  strikes 
twelve.     The  fire  is  not  alight:  it  is  a  summer  night. 

Presently  Higgins  and  Pickering  are  heard  on  the 
stairs. 

Higgins  [calling  down  to  Pickering]  I  say,  Pick:  lock 
up,  will  you.     I  shant  be  going  out  again. 

Pickering.  Right.  Can  Mrs.  Pearce  go  to  bed? 
We  dont  want  anything  more,  do  we? 

Higgins.     Lord,  no ! 

Eliza  opens  the  door  and  is  seen  on  the  lighted  land- 
ing in  opera  cloak,  brilliant  evening  dress,  and  diamonds, 
with  fan,  flowers,  and  all  accessories.  She  comes  to  the 
hearth,  and  switches  on  the  electric  lights  there.  She  is 
tired:  her  pallor  contrasts  strongly  with  her  dark  eyefs 
and  hair;  and  her  expression  is  almost  tragic.  She  takes 
off  her  cloak;  puts  her  fan  and  flowers  on  the  piano;  and 
sits  down  on  the  bench,  brooding  and  silent.  Higgins, 
i7i  evening  dress,  with  overcoat  and  hat,  comes  in,  carrying 
a  smoking  jacket  which  he  has  picked  up  downstairs. 
He  takes  off  the  hat  and  overcoat;  throws  them  care- 
lessly on  the  newspaper  stand;  disposes  of  his  coat  in 
the  same  way;  puts  on  the  smoking  jacket;  and  throws 
himself  wearily  into  the  easy-chair  at  the  hearth.  Picker- 
ing, similarly  attired,  comes  in.  He  also  takes  off  his 
hat  and  overcoat,  and  is  about  to  throw  them  on  Higgins's 
when  he  hesitates. 

Pickering.  I  say:  Mrs.  Pearce  will  row  if  we  leave 
these  things  lying  about  in  the  drawing-room. 

175 


176  Pygmalion  Act  IV 

HiGGiNs.  Oh,  chuck  them  over  the  bannisters  into  the 
hall.  She'll  find  them  there  in  the  morning  and  put  them 
away  all  right.     She'll  think  we  were  drunk. 

Pickering.     We  are,  slightly.     Are  there  any  letters? 

HiGGiNS.  I  didnt  look.  [Pickering  takes  the  overcoats 
and  hats  and  goes  down  stairs.  Higgins  begins  half  sing- 
ing half  yawning  an  air  from  La  Fanciulla  del  Golden 
West.  Suddenly  he  stops  and  exclaims]  I  wonder  where 
the  devil  my  slippers  are ! 

Eliza  looks  at  him  darkly;  then  rises  suddenly  and 
leaves  the  room. 

Higgins  yawns  again,  and  resumes  his  song. 

Pickering  returns,  with  the  contents  of  the  letter-box 
in  his  hand. 

Pickering.  Only  circulars,  and  this  coroneted  billet- 
doux  for  you.  [He  throws  the  circulars  into  the  fender, 
and  posts  himself  on  the  hearthrug,  with  his  back  to  the 
grate]. 

Higgins  [glancing  at  the  billet-doux]  Money-lender. 
[He  throws  the  letter  after  the  circulars]. 

Eliza  returns  with  a  pair  of  large  down-at-heel  slippers. 
She  places  them  on  the  carpet  before  Higgins,  and  sits 
as  before  without  a  word. 

Higgins  [yawning  again]  Oh  Lord !  What  an  eve- 
ning! What  a  crew!  What  a  silly  tomfoollery  !  [He  raises 
his  shoe  to  unlace  it,  and  catches  sight  of  the  slippers. 
He  stops  unlacing  and  looks  at  them  as  if  they  had  ap- 
peared there  of  their  own  accord].  Oh!  theyre  there,  are 
they.? 

Pickering  [stretching  himself]  Well,  I  feel  a  bit 
tired.  It's  been  a  long  day.  The  garden  party,  a  dinner 
party,  and  the  opera !  Rather  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 
But  youve  won  your  bet,  Higgins.  Eliza  did  the  trick, 
and  sometliing  to  spare,  eh.'' 

Higgins  [fervently]  Thank  God  it's  over! 


Act  IV  Pygmalion  177 

Eliza  flinches  violently;  but  they  take  no  notice  of 
her;  and  she  recovers  herself  and  sits  stonily  as  before. 

Pickering.  Were  you  nervous  at  the  garden  party?  I 
was.  Eliza  didnt  seem  a  bit  nervous. 

HiGGiNs,  Oh,  she  wasnt  nervous.  I  knew  she'd  be  all 
right.  No:  it's  the  strain  of  putting  the  job  through  all 
these  months  that  has  told  on  me.  It  was  interesting 
enough  at  first,  while  we  were  at  the  phonetics ;  but  after 
that  I  got  deadly  sick  of  it.  If  I  hadnt  backed  myself  to 
do  it  I  should  have  chucked  the  whole  thing  up  two 
months  ago.  It  was  a  silly  notion:  the  whole  thing  has 
been  a  bore. 

Pickering.  Oh  come !  the  garden  party  was  frightfully 
exciting.  My  heart  began  beating  like  anything. 

HiGGiNS.  Yes,  for  the  first  three  minutes.  But  when  I 
saw  we  were  going  to  win  hands  down,  I  felt  like  a  bear 
in  a  cage,  hanging  about  doing  nothing.  The  dinner  was 
worse:  sitting  gorging  there  for  over  an  hour,  with  no- 
body but  a  damned  fool  of  a  fashionable  woman  to  talk 
to !  I  tell  you,  Pickering,  never  again  for  me.  No  more 
artificial  duchesses.  The  whole  thing  has  been  simple 
purgatory. 

Pickering.  Youve  never  been  broken  in  properly  to  the 
social  routine.  [Strolling  over  to  the  piano]  I  rather  en- 
joy dipping  into  it  occasionally  myself:  it  makes  me  feel 
young  again.  Anyhow,  it  was  a  great  success :  an  immense 
success.  I  was  quite  frightened  once  or  twice  because 
Eliza  was  doing  it  so  well.  You  see,  lots  of  the  real 
people  cant  do  it  at  all :  theyre  such  fools  that  they  think 
style  comes  by  nature  to  people  in  their  position ;  and  so 
they  never  learn.  Theres  always  something  professional 
about  doing  a  thing  superlatively  well. 

HiGGiNs.   Yes:  thats  what  drives  me  mad:  the  silly 
people    dont   know   their   own    silly    business.    [Rising] 
However,  it's  over  and  done  with;  and  now  I  can  go  to 
bed  at  last  without  dreading  tomorrow. 
20 


178  Pygmalion  Act  IV 

Eliza's   beauty   becomes   murderous. 

Pickering,  I  think  I  shall  turn  in  too.  Still,  it's  been 
a  great  occasion:  a  triumph  for  you.  Good-night.  [He 
goes]. 

HiGGiNs  [following  him]  Good-night.  [Over  his  shoul- 
der, at  the  door]  Put  out  the  lights,  Eliza ;  and  tell  Mrs. 
Pearce  not  to  make  coffee  for  me  in  the  morning:  I'll 
take  tea.  [He  goes  out]. 

Eliza  tries  to  control  herself  and  feel  indifferent  as  she 
rises  and  walks  across  to  the  hearth  to  switch  off  the 
lights.  By  the  time  she  gets  there  she  is  on  the  point  of 
screaming.  She  sits  down  in  Higgins's  chair  and  holds 
on  hard  to  the  arms.  Finally  she  gives  way  and  flings 
herself  furiously  on  the  floor  raging. 

HiGGiNs  [in  despairing  wrath  outside]  Wliat  the  devil 
have  I  done  with  my  slippers?  [He  appears  at  the  door]. 

Liza  [snatching  up  the  slippers,  and  hurling  them  at 
him  one  after  the  other  with  all  her  force]  There  are  your 
slippers.  And  there.  Take  your  slippers;  and  may  you 
never  have  a  day's  luck  with  them! 

HiGGiNs  [astounded]  What  on  earth — !  [He  comes  to 
her].  Whats  the  matter.''  Get  up.  [He  pulls  her  up]. 
Anything  wrong? 

Liza  [breathless]  Nothing  wrong — with  you.  Ive 
won  your  bet  for  you,  havnt  I?  Thats  enough  for  you. 
/  dont  matter,  I  suppose. 

HiGGiNs.  You  won  my  bet !  You !  Presumptuous 
insect !  /  won  it.  What  did  you  throw  those  slippers  at 
me  for? 

Liza.  Because  I  wanted  to  smash  your  face.  I'd  like 
to  kill  you,  you  selfish  brute.  Why  didnt  you  leave  me 
where  you  picked  me  out  of — in  the  gutter?  You  thank 
God  it's  all  over,  and  that  now  you  can  throw  me  back 
again  there,  do  you?  [She  crisps  her  fingers  frantically]. 

HiGGiNs  [looking  at  her  in  cool  wonder]  The  creature 
i  s  nervous,  after  all. 


Act  IV  Pygmalion  179 

Liza  [gives  a  suffocated  scream  of  fury,  and  instinct- 
ively darts  her  nails  at  his  face] ! ! 

HiGGiNs  [catching  her  rvrists]  Ah!  would  you?  Claws 
in,  you  cat.  How  dare  you  shew  your  temper  to  me?  Sit 
down  and  be  quiet.  [He  throws  her  roughly  into  the 
easy-chair]. 

Liza  [crushed  by  superior  strength  and  weight]  Whats 
to  become  of  me?  Whats  to  become  of  me? 

HiGGiNs.  How  the  devil  do  I  know  whats  to  become  of 
you?  What  does  it  matter  what  becomes  of  you? 

Liza.  You  dont  care.  I  know  you  dont  care.  You 
wouldnt  care  if  I  was  dead.  I'm  nothing  to  you — not  so 
much  as  them  slippers. 

HiGGiNs   [thundering]    Those  slippers. 

Liza  [with  hitter  submission]  Those  slippers.  I  didnt 
think  it  made  any  difference  now. 

A  pause.  Eliza  hopeless  and  crushed.  Higgins  a  little 
uneasy. 

Higgins  [in  his  loftiest  manner]  Why  have  you  begun 
going  on  like  this?  May  I  ask  whether  you  complain  of 
your  treatment  here? 

Liza.  No. 

Higgins.  Has  anybody  behaved  badly  to  you?  Colonel 
Pickering?  Mrs.  Pearce?  Any  of  the  servants? 

Liza.  No. 

Higgins.  I  presume  you  dont  pretend  that  I  have 
treated  you  badly. 

Liza.    No. 

Higgins.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  [He  moderates  his  tone]. 
Perhaps  youre  tired  after  the  strain  of  the  day.  Will  you 
have  a  glass  of  champagne?  [He  moves  tojvards  the 
door] . 

Liza.  No.  [Recollecting  her  manners]  Thank  you. 

Higgins  [good-humored  again]  This  has  been  coming 
on  you  for  some  days.  I  suppose  it  was  natural  for  you 
to  be  anxious  about  the  garden  party.  But  thats  all  over 


180  Pygmalion  Act  IV 

now.  [He  pats  her  kindly  on  the  shoulder.  She  writhes], 
Theres  nothing  more  to  worry  about. 

Liza.  No.  Nothing  more  for  y  o u  to  worry  about.  [She 
suddenly  rises  and  gets  away  from  him  by  going  to  the 
piano  bench,  where  she  sits  and  hides  her  face] .  Oh  God ! 
I  wish  I  was  dead. 

HiGGiNs  [staring  after  her  in  sincere  surprise]  Why? 
in  heaven's  name,  why.''  [Reasonably,  going  to  her] 
Listen  to  me,  Eliza.  All  this  irritation  is  purely  sub- 
jective. 

Liza.  I  dont  understand.  I'm  too  ignorant. 

HiGGiNs.  It's  only  imagination.  Low  spirits  and  noth- 
ing else.  Nobody's  hurting  you.  Nothing's  wrong.  You 
go  to  bed  like  a  good  girl  and  sleep  it  off.  Have  a  little 
cry  and  say  your  prayers :  that  will  make  you  comfortable. 

Liza.  I  heard  your  prayers.  "Thank  God  it's  all 
over !" 

HiGGiNs  [impatiently]  Well,  dont  you  thank  God  it's 
all  over.''  Now  you  are  free  and  can  do  what  you  like. 

Liza  [pulling  herself  together  in  desperation]  What 
am  I  fit  for.^  What  have  you  left  me  fit  for.^  Where  am  I 
to  go}  What  am  I  to  do?  Whats  to  become  of  me? 

HiGGiNs  [enlightened,  but  not  at  all  impressed]  Oh, 
thats  whats  worrying  you,  is  it?  [He  thrusts  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  walks  about  in  his  usual  manner, 
rattling  the  contents  of  his  pockets,  as  if  condescending 
to  a  trivial  subject  out  of  pure  kindness],  I  shouldnt 
bother  about  it  if  I  were  you.  I  should  imagine  you  wont 
have  much  difficulty  in  settling  yourself  somewhere  or 
other,  though  I  hadnt  quite  realized  that  you  were  going 
away.  [She  looks  quickly  at  him:  he  does  not  look  at  her, 
but  examines  the  dessert  stand  on  the  piano  and  decides 
that  he  will  eat  an  apple].  You  might  marry,  you  know. 
[He  bites  a  large  piece  out  of  the  apple,  and  munches  it 
noisily].    You  see,  Eliza,  all  men  are  not  confirmed  old 


Act  IV  Pygmalion  181 

bachelors  like  me  and  the  Colonel.  Most  men  are  the 
marrying  sort  (poor  devils !)  ;  and  youre  not  bad-looking; 
it's  quite  a  pleasure  to  look  at  you  sometimes — not  now, 
of  course,  because  youre  crying  and  looking  as  ugly  as 
the  very  devil;  but  when  youre  all  right  and  quite  your- 
self, youre  what  I  should  call  attractive.  That  is,  to  the 
people  in  the  marrying  line,  you  understand.  You  go  to 
bed  and  have  a  good  nice  rest;  and  then  get  up  and  look 
at  yourself  in  the  glass;  and  you  wont  feel  so  cheap. 

Eliza  again  looks  at  him,  speechless,  and  does  not 
stir. 

The  look  is  quite  lost  on  him :  he  eats  his  apple  with  a 
dreamy  expression  of  happiness,  as  it  is  quite  a  good 
one. 

HiGGiNs  [a  genial  afterthought  occurring  to  him]  I 
daresay  my  mother  could  find  some  chap  or  other  who 
would  do  very  well. 

Liza.  We  were  above  that  at  the  corner  of  Tottenham 
Court  Road. 

HiGGiNs  [waking  up]  What  do  you  mean? 

Liza.  I  sold  flowers.  I  didnt  sell  myself.  Now  youve 
made  a  lady  of  me  I'm  not  fit  to  sell  anything  else.  I 
wish  youd  left  me  where  you  found  me. 

HiGGiNs  [slinging  the  core  of  the  apple  decisively  into 
the  grate]  Tosh,  Eliza.  Dont  you  insult  human  relations 
by  dragging  all  this  cant  about  buying  and  selling  into 
it.  You  neednt  marry  the  fellow  if  you  dont  like  him. 

Liza.  What  else  am  I  to  do? 

HiGGiNS.  Oh,  lots  of  things.  What  about  your  old  idea 
of  a  florist's  shop?  Pickering  could  set  you  up  in  one: 
hes  lots  of  money.  [Chuckling]  He'll  have  to  pay  for 
all  those  togs  you  have  been  wearing  today;  and  that, 
with  the  hire  of  the  jewellery,  will  make  a  big  hole  in  two 
hundred  pounds.  Why,  six  months  ago  you  would  have 
thought  it  the  millennium  to  have  a  flower  shop  of  your 


182  Pygmalion  Act  IV 

own.  Come !  youll  be  all  right.  I  must  clear  off  to  bed : 
I'm  devilish  sleepy.  By  the  way,  I  came  down  for  some- 
thing: I   forget  what  it  was. 

Liza.   Your  slippers. 

HiGGiNs.  Oh  yes,  of  course.  You  shied  them  at  me. 
[He  picks  them  up,  and  is  going  out  when  she  rises  and 
speaks  to  him]. 

Liza.  Before  you  go,  sir — 

HiGGiNs  [dropping  the  slippers  in  his  surprise  at  her 
calling  him  Sir]  Eh? 

Liza.  Do  my  clothes  belong  to  me  or  to  Colonel  Pick- 
ering? 

HiGGiNs  [coming  back  into  the  room  as  if  her  question 
were  the  very  climax  of  unreason]  What  the  devil  use 
would  they  be  to  Pickering? 

Liza.  He  might  want  them  for  the  next  girl  you  pick 
up  to  experiment  on. 

HiGGiNs  [shocked  and  hurtj  Is  t  h  a  t  the  way  you  feel 
towards  us? 

Liza.  I  dont  want  to  hear  anything  more  about  that. 
All  I  want  to  know  is  whether  anything  belongs  to  me. 
My  own  clothes  were  burnt. 

HiGGiNs.  But  what  does  it  matter?  Why  need  you 
start  bothering  about  that  in  the  middle  of  the  night? 

Liza.  I  want  to  know  what  I  may  take  away  with  me. 
I  dont  want  to  be  accused  of  stealing. 

HiGGiNs  [now  deeply  wounded]  Stealing!  You 
shouldnt  have  said  that,  Eliza.  That  shews  a  want  of  feel- 
ing. 

Liza.  I'm  sorry.  I'm  only  a  common  ignorant  girl;  and 
in  my  station  I  have  to  be  careful.  There  cant  be  any 
feelings  between  the  like  of  you  and  the  like  of  me. 
Please  will  you  tell  me  what  belongs  to  me  and  what 
doesn't  ? 

HiGGiNs  [very  sulky]  You  may  take  the  whole  damned 


Act  IV  Pygmalion  183 

houseful  if  you  like.  Except  Uie  jewels.  Theyre  hired. 
Will  that  satisfy  you?  [He  turns  on  his  heel  and  is 
about  to  go  in  extreme  dudgeon]. 

Liza  [drinking  in  his  emotion  like  nectar,  and  nagging 
him  to  provoke  a  further  supply]  Stop,  please.  [She 
takes  off  her  jewels].  Will  you  take  these  to  your  room 
and  keep  them  safe.''  I  dont  want  to  run  the  risk  of 
their  being  missing. 

HiGGiNs  [furious]  Hand  them  over.  [She  puts  them 
into  his  hands].  If  these  belonged  to  me  instead  of  to 
the  jeweler,  I'd  ram  them  down  your  ungrateful  throat. 
[He  perfunctorily  thrusts  them  into  his  pockets,  uncon- 
sciously decorating  himself  with  the  protruding  ends  of 
the  chains]. 

Liza  [taking  a  ring  off]  This  ring  isnt  the  jeweler's: 
it's  the  one  you  bought  me  in  Brighton.  I  dont  want  it 
now.  [Higgins  dashes  the  ring  violently  into  the  fireplace, 
and  tzirns  on  her  so  threateningly  that  she  crouches  over 
the  piano  with  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  exclaims] 
Dont  you  hit  me. 

Higgins.  Hit  you !  You  infamous  creature,  how  dare 
you  accuse  me  of  such  a  thing?  It  is  you  who  have  hit 
me.  You  have  wounded  me  to  the  heart. 

Liza  [thrilling  with  hidden  joy]  I'm  glad.  Ive  got  a 
little  of  my  own  back,  anyhow. 

Higgins  [with  dignity,  in  his  finest  professional  style] 
You  have  caused  me  to  lose  my  temper:  a  thing  that  has 
hardly  ever  happend  to  me  before.  I  prefer  to  say  noth- 
ing more  tonight.  I  am  going  to  bed. 

Liza  [pertly]  Youd  better  leave  a  note  for  Mrs. 
Pearce  about  the  coffee;  for  she  wont  be  told  by  me. 

Higgins  [formally]  Damn  Mrs.  Pearce;  and  damn  the 
coffee ;  and  damn  you ;  and  damn  my  own  folly  in  having 
lavished  hard-earned  knowledge  and  the  treasure  of  my 
regard   and   intimacy   on   a   heartless   guttersnipe.    [He 


184  Pygmalion  Act  IV 

goes  out  with  impressive  decorum,  and  spoils  it  hy  slam- 
ming the  door  savagely^. 

Eliza  smiles  for  the  first  time;  expresses  her  feelings 
hy  a  wild  pantomime  in  which  an  imitation  of  Higgins's 
exit  is  confused  with  her  own  triumph;  and  finally  goes 
down  on  her  knees  on  the  hearthrug  to  look  for  the  ring. 


ACT  V 

Mrs.  Higgins's  drawing-room.  She  is  at  her  writing- 
table  as  before.  The  parlor-maid  comes  in. 

The  Parlor-Maid  [at  the  door]  Mr.  Henry,  mam, 
is  downstairs  with  Colonel  Pickering. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Well,  shew  them  up. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Theyre  using  the  telephone,  mam. 
Telephoning  to  the  police,  I  think. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  What! 

The  Parlor-Maid  [coming  further  in  and  lowering 
her  voice]  Mr.  Henry's  in  a  state,  mam.  I  thought  I'd 
better  tell  you. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  If  you  had  told  me  that  Mr.  Henry 
was  not  in  a  state  it  would  have  been  more  surprising. 
Tell  them  to  come  up  when  theyve  finished  with  the 
police.  I  suppose  hes  lost  something. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Yes,  mam  [going]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Go  upstairs  and  tell  Miss  Doolittle 
that  Mr.  Henry  and  the  Colonel  are  here.  Ask  her  not 
to  come  down  till  I  send  for  her. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Yes,  mam. 

Higgins  bursts  in.  He  is,  as  the  parlor-maid  has  said, 
in  a  state. 

Higgins.  Look  here,  mother:  heres  a  confounded  thing! 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Yes,  dear.  Good-morning.  [He  checks 
his  impatience  and  kisses  her,  whilst  the  parlor-maid  goes 
out].    What  is  it? 

Higgins.  Eliza's  bolted. 

185 


186  Pygmalion  Act  V 

Mrs.  Higgins  [calmly  continuing  her  writing]  You 
must  have  frightened  her. 

Higgins.  Frightened  her!  nonsense!  She  was  left  last 
night,  as  usual,  to  turn  out  the  lights  and  all  that;  and 
instead  of  going  to  bed  she  changed  her  clothes  and  went 
right  off:  her  bed  wasnt  slept  in.  She  came  in  a  cab  for 
her  things  before  seven  this  morning;  and  that  fool  Mrs. 
Pearce  let  her  have  them  without  telling  me  a  word 
about  it.  What  am  I  to  do.'* 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Do  without,  I'm  afraid,  Henry.  The  girl 
has  a  perfect  right  to  leave  if  she  chooses. 

Higgins  [wandering  distractedly  across  the  room]  But 
I  cant  find  anything.  I  dont  know  what  appointments  Ive 
got.  I'm —  [Pickering  comes  in.  Mrs.  Higgins  puts 
down  her  pen  and  turns  away  from  the  writing-table], 

Pickering  [shahing  hands]  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Hig- 
gins. Has  Henry  told  you.?  [He  sits  down  on  the  otto- 
man]. 

Higgins.  What  does  that  ass  of  an  inspector  say? 
Have  you  offered  a  reward.'' 

Mrs.  Higgins  [rising  in  indignant  amazement]  You 
dont  mean  to  say  you  have  set  the  police  after  Eliza.? 

Higgins.  Of  course.  What  are  the  police  for?  What 
else  could  we  do?    [He  sits  in  the  Elizabethan  chair]. 

Pickering.  The  inspector  made  a  lot  of  difficulties. 
I  really  think  he  suspected  us  of  some  improper  purpose. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Well,  of  course  he  did.  What  right  have 
you  to  go  to  the  police  and  give  the  girl's  name  as  if 
she  were  a  thief,  or  a  lost  umbrella,  or  something?  Really! 
[She  sits  down  again,  deeply  vexed]. 

Higgins.  But  we  want  to  find  her. 

Pickering.  We  cant  let  her  go  like  this,  you  know, 
Mrs.  Higgins.  What  were  we  to  do? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  You  have  no  more  sense,  either  of  you, 
than  two  children.  Why — 


Act  V  Pygmalion  187 

The  parlor-maid  comes  in  and  breaks  off  the  conversa- 
tion. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Mr.  Henry:  a  gentleman  wants  to 
see  you  very  particular.  Hes  been  sent  on  from  Wim- 
pole  Street. 

HiGGiNs.  Ohj  bother!  I  cant  see  anyone  now.  Who  is 
it.? 

The  Parlor-Maid.  A  Mr.  Doolittle,  sir. 

Pickering.  Doolittle!  Do  you  mean  the  dustman? 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Dustman!  Oh  no,  sir:  a  gentle- 
man. 

HiGGiNs  [springing  up  excitedly]  By  George,  Pick, 
it's  some  relative  of  hers  that  shes  gone  to.  Somebody 
we  know  nothing  about.  [To  the  parlor-maid]  Send  him 
up,  quick. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Yes,  sir.  [She  goes], 

HiGGiNs  [eagerly,  going  to  his  mother]  Genteel  rela- 
tives !  now  we  shall  hear  something.  [He  sits  down  in  the 
Chippendale  cJiair]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Do  you  know  any  of  her  people? 

Pickering.  Only  her  father:  the  fellow  we  told  you 
about. 

The  Parlor-Maid  [announcing]  Mr.  Doolittle.  [She 
withdraws] . 

Doolittle  enters.  He  is  brilliantly  dressed  in  a  new 
fashionable  frock-coat,  with  white  waistcoat  and  grey 
trousers.  A  flower  in  his  buttonhole ,  a  dazzling  silk  hat, 
and  patent  leather  shoes  complete  the  effect.  He  is  too 
concerned  with  the  business  he  has  come  on  to  notice  Mrs. 
Higgins.  He  walks  straight  to  Higgins,  and  accosts  him 
with  vehement  reproach. 

Doolittle  [indicating  his  own  person]  See  here!  Do 
you  see  this  ?  You  done  this. 

Higgins.   Done  what,  man? 

Doolittle.  This,  I  tell  you.  Look  at  it.  Look  at  this 
hat.  Look  at  this  coat. 


188  Pygmalion  Act  V 

Pickering.  Has  Eliza  been  buying  you  clothes? 

DooLiTTLE.  Eliza  !  not  she.  Not  half.  Why  would  she 
buy  me  clothes? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Doolittle.  Wont  you 
sit  down? 

Doolittle  [taken  aback  as  he  becomes  conscious  that 
he  has  forgotten  his  hostess]  Asking  your  pardon,  maam. 
[He  approaches  her  and  shakes  her  proffered  hand]. 
Thank  you.  [He  sits  down  on  the  ottoman,  on  Picker- 
ing's right].  I  am  that  full  of  what  has  happened  to  me 
that  I  cant  think  of  anything  else. 

Higgins.  What  the  dickens  has  happened  to  you? 

Doolittle.  I  shouldnt  mind  if  it  had  only  happened 
to  me:  anything  might  happen  to  anybody  and  nobody 
to  blame  but  Providence,  as  you  might  say.  But  this  is 
something  that  you  done  to  me:  yes,  you,  Henry  Hig- 
gins. 

Higgins.  Have  you  foimd  Eliza?  Thats  the  point. 

Doolittle.  Have  you  lost  her? 

Higgins.  Yes. 

Doolittle.  You  have  all  the  luck,  you  have.  I  aint 
found  her;  but  she'll  find  me  quick  enough  now  after 
what  you  done  to  me. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  But  what  has  my  son  done  to  you,  Mr. 
Doolittle  ? 

Doolittle.  Done  to  me !  Ruined  me.  Destroyed  my 
happiness.  Tied  me  up  and  delivered  me  into  the  hands 
of  middle  class  morality. 

Higgins  [rising  intolerantly  and  standing  over  Doo- 
little] Youre  raving.  Youre  drunk.  Youre  mad.  I  gave  you 
five  pounds.  After  that  I  had  two  conversations  with  you, 
at  half-a-crown  an  hour.  Ive  never  seen  you  since. 

Doolittle.  Oh!  Drunk!  am  I  ?  Mad!  am  I  ?  Tell  me 
this.  Did  you  or  did  you  not  write  a  letter  to  an  old 
blighter  in  America  that  was  giving  five  millions  to  found 


Act  V  Pygmalion  189 

Moral  Reform  Societies  all  over  the  world,  and  that 
wanted  you  to  invent  a  universal  language  for  him  ? 

HiGGiNs.  What!  Ezra  D.  Wannafeller !  Hes  dead. 
[He  sits  down  again  carelessly], 

DooLiTTLE.  Yes:  hes  dead;  and  I'm  done  for.  Now 
did  you  or  did  you  not  write  a  letter  to  him  to  say  that 
the  most  original  moralist  at  present  in  England,  to 
the  best  of  your  knowledge,  was  Alfred  Doolittle,  a 
common  dustman. 

HiGGiNs.  Oh,  after  your  last  visit  I  remember  making 
some  silly  joke  of  the  kind. 

Doolittle.  Ah!  you  may  well  call  it  a  silly  joke.  It 
put  the  lid  on  me  right  enough.  Just  give  him  the  chance 
he  wanted  to  shew  that  Americans  is  not  like  us :  that 
they  recognize  and  respect  merit  in  every  class  of  life, 
however  humble.  Them  words  is  in  his  blooming  will, 
in  which,  Henry  Higgins,  thanks  to  your  silly  joking,  he 
leaves  me  a  share  in  his  Pre-digested  Cheese  Trust  worth 
three  thousand  a  year  on  condition  that  I  lecture  for  his 
Wannafeller  Moral  Reform  World  League  as  often  as 
they  ask  me  up  to  six  times  a  year. 

Higgins.  The  devil  he  does !  Whew !  [Brightening 
suddenly]   What  a  lark! 

Pickering.  A  safe  thing  for  you,  Doolittle.  They 
wont  ask  you  twice. 

Doolittle.  It  aint  the  lecturing  I  mind.  I'll  lecture 
them  blue  in  the  face,  I  will,  and  not  turn  a  hair.  It's 
making  a  gentleman  of  me  that  I  object  to.  Who  asked 
him  to  make  a  gentleman  of  me?  I  was  happy.  I  was 
free.  I  touched  pretty  nigh  everybody  for  money  when  I 
wanted  it,  same  as  I  touched  you,  Henry  Pliggins.  Now 
I  am  worrited ;  tied  neck  and  heels ;  and  everybody 
touches  me  for  money.  It's  a  fine  thing  for  you,  says  my 
solicitor.  Is  it?  says  I.  You  mean  it's  a  good  thing  for  you, 
I  says.  When  I  was  a  poor  man  and  had  a  solicitor 
once  when  they  found  a  pram  in  the  dust  cart,  he  got 


190  Pygmalion  Act  V 

me  off,  and  got  shut  of  me  and  got  me  shut  of  him  as 
quick  as  he  could.  Same  with  the  doctors :  used  to  shove 
me  out  of  the  hospital  before  I  could  hardly  stand  on  my 
legs,  and  nothing  to  pay.  Now  they  finds  out  that  I'm 
not  a  healthy  man  and  cant  live  unless  they  looks  after 
me  twice  a  day.  In  the  house  I'm  not  let  do  a  hand's 
turn  for  myself:  somebody  else  must  do  it  and  touch  me 
for  it.  A  year  ago  I  hadnt  a  relative  in  the  world  except 
two  or  three  that  wouldnt  speak  to  me.  Now  Ive  fifty, 
and  not  a  decent  week's  wages  among  the  lot  of  them. 
I  have  to  live  for  others  and  not  for  myself:  thats  mid- 
dle class  morality.  You  talk  of  losing  Eliza.  Dont  you  be 
anxious :  I  bet  shes  on  my  doorstep  by  this :  she  that  could 
support  herself  easy  by  selling  flowers  if  I  wasnt  re- 
spectable. And  the  next  one  to  touch  me  will  be  you, 
Henry  Higgins.  I'll  have  to  learn  to  speak  middle  class 
language  from  you,  instead  of  speaking  proper  English. 
Thats  where  youll  come  in ;  and  I  daresay  thats  what  you 
done  it  for. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Doolittle,  you  need 
not  suffer  all  this  if  you  are  really  in  earnest.  Nobody 
can  force  you  to  accept  this  bequest.  You  can  repudiate 
it.  Isnt  that  so.  Colonel  Pickering.'' 

Pickering.  I  believe  so. 

Doolittle  [softening  his  manner  in  deference  to  her 
sex'\  Thats  the  tragedy  of  it,  maam.  It's  easy  to  say 
chuck  it;  but  I  havent  the  nerve.  Which  of  us  has?  We're 
all  intimidated.  Intimidated,  maam:  thats  what  we  are. 
What  is  there  for  me  if  I  chuck  it  but  the  workhouse  in 
my  old  age?  I  have  to  dye  my  hair  already  to  keep  my 
job  as  a  dustman.  If  I  was  one  of  the  deserving  poor,  and 
had  put  by  a  bit,  I  could  chuck  it;  but  then  why  should 
I,  acause  the  deserving  poor  might  as  well  be  millionaires 
for  all  the  happiness  they  ever  has.  They  dont  know 
what  happiness  is.  But  I,  as  one  of  the  undeserving  poor, 
have  nothing  between  me  and  the  pauper's  uniform  but 


Act  V  Pygmalion  191 

this  here  blasted  three  thousand  a  year  that  shoves  me 
into  the  middle  class.  (Excuse  the  expression,  maam: 
youd  use  it  yourself  if  you  had  my  provocation).  Theyve 
got  you  every  way  you  turn :  it's  a  choice  between  the 
Skilly  of  the  workhouse  and  the  Char  Bydis  of  the  mid- 
dle class;  and  I  havnt  the  nerve  for  the  workhouse.  In- 
timidated :  thats  what  I  am.  Broke.  Bought  up.  Happier 
men  than  me  will  call  for  my  dust,  and  touch  me  for 
their  tip;  and  I'll  look  on  helpless,  and  envy  them.  And 
thats  what  your  son  has  brought  me  to.  [He  is  overcome 
by  emotion]. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Well,  I'm  very  glad  youre  not  going  to 
do  anything  foolish,  Mr.  Doolittle.  For  this  solves  the 
problem  of  Eliza's  future.     You  can  provide  for  her  now. 

Doolittle  [with  melancholy  resig7iation]  Yes,  maam: 
I'm  expected  to  provide  for  everyone  now,  out  of  three 
thousand  a  year. 

Higgins  [jumping  tip]  Nonsense !  he  cant  provide  for 
her.  He  shant  provide  for  her.  She  doesnt  belong  to  him. 
I  paid  him  five  pounds  for  her.  Doolittle:  either  youre 
an  honest  man  or  a  rogue. 

Doolittle  [tolerantly]  A  little  of  both,  Henry,  like 
the  rest  of  us :  a  little  of  both. 

Higgins.  Well,  you  took  that  money  for  the  girl;  and 
you  have  no  right  to  take  her  as  well. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Henry:  dont  be  absurd.  If  you  really 
want  to  know  where  Eliza  is,  she  is  upstairs. 

Higgins  [amased]  Upstairs!!!  Then  I  shall  jolly 
soon  fetch  her  downstairs.  [He  makes  resolutely  for  the 
door]. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [rising  and  following  him]  Be  quiet, 
Henry.  Sit  down. 

Higgins.  I — 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Sit  down,  dear;  and  listen  to  me. 

Higgins.  Oh  very  well,  very  well,  very  well.  [He 
throws  himself  ungraciously  on  the  ottoman,  with  his  face 


192  Pygmalion  Act  V 

towards  the  windows].  But  I  think  you  might  have  told 
me  this  half  an  hour  ago. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Eliza  came  to  me  this  morning.  She 
passed  the  night  partly  walking  about  in  a  rage,  partly 
trying  to  throw  herself  into  the  river  and  being  afraid 
to,  and  partly  in  the  Carlton  Hotel.  She  told  me  of  the 
brutal  way  you  two  treated  her. 

Higgins  [bounding  up  again]  What! 

Pickering  [rising  also]  My  dear  Mrs.  Higgins,  shes 
been  telling  you  stories.  We  didnt  treat  her  brutally.  We 
hardly  said  a  word  to  her ;  and  we  parted  on  particularly 
good  terms.  [Turning  on  Higgins].  Higgins  did  you 
bully  her  after  I  went  to  bed? 

Higgins.  Just  the  other  way  about.  She  threw  my  slip- 
pers in  my  face.  She  behaved  in  the  most  outrageous 
way.  I  never  gave  her  the  slightest  provocation.  The 
slippers  came  bang  into  my  face  the  moment  I  entered 
the  room — before  I  had  uttered  a  word.  And  used  per- 
fectly awful  language. 

Pickering  [astonished]  But  why.-*  What  did  we  do 
to  her.'' 

Mrs.  Higgins.  I  think  I  know  pretty  well  what  you 
did.  The  girl  is  naturally  rather  affectionate,  I  think. 
Isnt  she,  Mr.  Doolittle? 

DooLiTTLE.  Very  tender-hearted,  maam.  Takes  after 
me. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Just  so.  She  had  become  attached  to 
you  both.  She  worked  very  hard  for  you,  Henry !  I  dont 
think  you  quite  realize  what  anything  in  the  nature  of 
brain  work  means  to  a  girl  like  that.  Well,  it  seems  that 
when  the  great  day  of  trial  came,  and  she  did  this  won- 
derful thing  for  you  without  making  a  single  mistake, 
you  two  sat  there  and  never  said  a  word  to  her,  but 
talked  together  of  how  glad  you  were  that  it  was  all 
over  and  how  you  had  been  bored  with  the  whole  thing. 
And  then  you  were  surprised  because  she  threw  your 


Act  V  Pygmalion  193 

slippers  at  you!  I  should  have  thrown  the  fire-irons  at 
you. 

HiGGiNS.  We  said  nothing  except  that  we  were  tired 
and  wanted  to  go  to  bed.  Did  we.  Pick? 

Pickering    ^shrugging  his  shoulders]    That  was   all. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [ironically]  Quite  sure? 

Pickering.  Absolutely.  Really,  that  was  all. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  You  didn't  thank  her,  or  pet  her,  or 
admire  her,  or  tell  her  how  splendid  she'd  been, 

Higgins  [impatiently]  But  she  knew  all  about  that. 
We  didnt  make  speeches  to  her,  if  thats  what  you  mean. 

Pickering  [conscience  stricken]  Perhaps  we  were  a 
little  inconsiderate.  Is  she  very  angry? 

Mrs.  Higgins  [returning  to  her  place  at  the  writing- 
table]  Well,  I'm  afraid  she  wont  go  back  to  Wimpole 
Street,  especially  now  that  Mr.  Doolittle  is  able  to  keep 
up  the  position  you  have  thrust  on  her;  but  she  says 
she  is  quite  willing  to  meet  you  on  friendly  terms  and 
to  let  bygones  be  bygones. 

Higgins    [furious]    Is  she,  by  George?  Ho! 

Mrs.  Higgins.  If  you  promise  to  behave  yourself,  Hen- 
ry, I'll  ask  her  to  come  down.  If  not,  go  home;  for  you 
have  taken  up  quite  enough  of  my  time. 

Higgins.  Oh,  all  right.  Very  well.  Pick:  you  behave 
yourself.  Let  us  put  on  our  best  Sunday  manners  for 
this  creature  that  we  picked  out  of  the  mud.  [He  flings 
himself  sulkily  into  the  Elizabethan  chair], 

Doolittle  [remonstrating]  Now,  now,  Henry  Hig- 
gins !  have  some  consideration  for  my  feelings  as  a  middle 
class  man. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Remember  your  promise,  Henry.  [She 
presses  the  bell-button  on  the  writing-table].  Mr.  Doo- 
little: will  you  be  so  good  as  to  step  out  on  the  balcony 
for  a  moment.  I  dont  want  Eliza  to  have  the  shock  of 
your  news  until  she  has  made  it  up  with  these  two  gen- 
tlemen. Would  you  mind  ? 
21 


194  Pygmalion  Act  V 

DooLiTTLE.  As  you  wish,  lady.  Anything  to  help  Hen- 
ry to  keep  her  off  my  hands.  [He  disappears  through  the 
window]. 

The  parlor-maid  answers  the  hell.  Pickering  sits 
down  in  Doolittle's  place. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Ask  Miss  Doolittle  to  come  down, 
please. 

The  Parlor-Maid.  Yes,  mam.  [She  goes  out], 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Now,  Henry:  be  good. 

Higgins.  I  am  behaving  myself  perfectly. 

Pickering.  He  is  doing  his  best,  Mrs.  Higgins. 

A  pause.  Higgins  throws  back  his  head;  stretches 
out  his  legs;  and  begins  to  whistle. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Henry,  dearest,  you  dont  look  at  all 
nice  in  that  attitude. 

Higgins  [pulling  himself  together]  I  was  not  try- 
ing to  look  nice,  mother. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  It  doesnt  matter,  dear.  I  only  wanted 
to  make  you  speak. 

Higgins.  Why? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Because  you  cant  speak  and  whistle  at 
the  same  time. 

Higgins  groans.    Another  very  trying  pause. 

Higgins  [springing  up,  out  of  patience]  Where  the 
devil  is  that  girl?     Are  we  to  wait  here  all  day? 

Eliza  enters,  sunny,  self-possessed,  and  giving  a  stag- 
geringly convincing  exhibition  of  ease  of  manner.  She 
carries  a  little  work-basket,  and  is  very  much  at  home. 
Pickering  is  too  much  taken  aback  to  rise. 

Liza.  How  do  you  do.  Professor  Higgins?  Are  you 
quite  well? 

Higgins  [choking]  Am  I —  [He  can  say  no  more]. 

Liza.  But  of  course  you  are :  you  are  never  ill.  So  glad 
to  see  you  again.  Colonel  Pickering.  [He  rises  hastily; 
and  they  shake  hands] .  Quite  chilly  this  morning,  isnt 
it?  [She  sits  down  on  his  left.     He  sits  beside  her]. 


Act  V  Pygmalion  195 

HiGGiNS.  Dont  you  dare  try  this  game  on  me.  I  taught 
it  to  you;  and  it  doesnt  take  me  in.  Get  up  and  come 
home;  and  dont  be  a  fool. 

Eliza  takes  a  piece  of  needlework  from  her  basket,  and 
begins  to  stitch  at  it,  without  taking  the  least  notice  of 
this  outburst. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Very  nicely  put,  indeed,  Henry.  No 
woman  could  resist  such  an  invitation. 

Higgins.  You  let  her  alone,  mother.  Let  her  speak  for 
herself.  You  will  jolly  soon  see  whether  she  has  an  idea 
that  I  havnt  put  into  her  head  or  a  word  that  I  havnt 
put  into  her  mouth.  I  tell  you  I  have  created  this  thing 
out  of  the  squashed  cabbage  leaves  of  Covent  Garden; 
and  now  she  pretends  to  play  the  fine  lady  with  me. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [placidly]  Yes,  dear;  but  youll  sit  dovra, 
wont  you.'' 

Higgins  sits  down  again,  savagely. 

Liza  [to  Pickering,  taking  no  apparent  notice  of  Hig- 
gins, and  working  away  deftly]  Will  you  drop  me  alto- 
gether now  that  the  experiment  is  over,  Colonel  Picker- 
ing? 

Pickering.  Oh  dont.  You  mustnt  think  of  it  as  an  ex- 
periment. It  shocks  me,  somehow. 

Liza.  Oh,  I'm  only  a  squashed  cabbage  leaf — ■ 

Pickering  [impulsively]  No. 

Liza  [continuing  quietly] — but  I  owe  so  much  to  you 
that  I  should  be  very  unhappy  if  you  forgot  me. 

Pickering.  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so.  Miss  Doo- 
little. 

Liza.  It's  not  because  you  paid  for  my  dresses.  I  know 
you  are  generous  to  everybody  with  money.  But  it  was 
from  you  that  I  learnt  really  nice  manners;  and  that  is 
what  makes  one  a  lady,  isnt  it}  You  see  it  was  so  very 
difficult  for  me  with  the  example  of  Professor  Higgins  al- 
ways before  me.  I  was  brought  up  to  be  just  like  him, 
unable  to  control  myself,  and  using  bad  language  on  the 


196  Pygmalion  Act  V 

slightest  provocation.  And  I  should  never  have  known 
that  ladies  and  gentlemen  didnt  behave  like  that  if  you 
hadnt  been  there. 

HiGGiNs.  Well ! ! 

Pickering.  Oh,  thats  only  his  way,  you  know.  He 
doesnt  mean  it. 

Liza.  Oh,  /  didnt  mean  it  either,  when  I  was  a  flower 
girl.  It  was  only  my  way.  But  you  see  I  did  it ;  and  thats 
what  makes  the  difference  after  all. 

Pickering.  No  doubt.  Still,  he  taught  you  to  speak; 
and  I  couldnt  have  done  that,  you  know. 

Liza  [trivially]  Of  course:  that  is  his  profession. 

Higgins.  Damnation ! 

Liza  [continuing]  It  was  just  like  learning  to  dance  in 
the  fashionable  way:  there  was  nothing  more  than  that 
in  it.  But  do  you  know  what  began  my  real  education? 

Pickering.  What? 

Liza  [stopping  her  work  for  a  mojnent]  Your  calling 
me  Miss  Doolittle  that  day  when  I  first  came  to  Wimpole 
Street.  That  was  the  beginning  of  self-respect  for  me. 
[She  resumes  her  stitching].  And  there  were  a  hundred 
little  things  you  never  noticed,  because  they  came  natur- 
ally to  you.  Things  about  standing  up  and  taking  off  your 
hat  and  opening  door — 

Pickering.  Oh,  that  was  nothing. 

Liza.  Yes:  things  that  shewed  you  thought  and  felt 
about  me  as  if  I  were  something  better  than  a  scullery- 
maid;  though  of  course  I  know  you  would  have  been  just 
the  same  to  a  scullery-maid  if  she  had  been  let  in  the 
drawing-room.  You  never  took  off  your  boots  in  the  dining 
room  when  I  was  there. 

Pickering.  You  mustnt  mind  that.  Higgins  takes  off 
his  boots  all  over  the  place. 

Liza,  I  know.  I  am  not  blaming  him.  It  is  his  way,  isnt 
it?  But  it  made  such  a  difference  to  me  that  you  didnt 
do  it.  You  see,  really  and  truly,  apart  from  the  things 


Act  V  Pygmalion  197 

anyone  can  pick  up  (the  dressing  and  the  proper  way 
of  speaking,  and  so  on)^  the  difference  between  a  lady 
and  a  flower  girl  is  not  how  she  behaves,  but  how  shes 
treated.  I  shall  always  be  a  flower  girl  to  Professor  Hig- 
gins,  because  he  always  treats  me  as  a  flower  girl,  and 
always  will;  but  I  know  I  can  be  a  lady  to  you,  because 
you  always  treat  me  as  a  lady,  and  always  will. 

Mrs.  Higgins.    Please  dont  grind  your  teeth,  Henry. 

Pickering.  Well,  this  is  really  very  nice  of  you,  Miss 
Doolittle. 

Liza.  I  should  like  you  to  call  me  Eliza,  now,  if  you 
would. 

Pickering.  Thank  you.  Eliza,  of  course. 

Liza.  And  I  should  like  Professor  Higgins  to  call  me 
Miss  Doolittle. 

Higgins.     I'll  see  you  damned  first. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Henry !  Henry ! 

Pickering  [laughing]  Why  dont  you  slang  back  at 
him  ?  Dont  stand  it.  It  would  do  him  a  lot  of  good. 

Liza.  I  cant.  I  could  have  done  it  once ;  but  now  I  cant 
go  back  to  it.  Last  night,  when  I  was  wandering  about,  a 
girl  spoke  to  me;  and  I  tried  to  get  back  into  the  old 
way  with  her;  but  it  was  no  use.  You  told  me,  you  know, 
that  when  a  child  is  brought  to  a  foreign  country,  it  picks 
up  the  language  in  a  few  weeks,  and  forgets  its  own. 
Well,  I  am  a  child  in  your  country.  I  have  forgotten 
my  own  language,  and  can  speak  nothing  but  yours. 
Thats  the  real  break-off  with  the  corner  of  Tottenham 
Court  Road.     Leaving  Wimpole  Street  finishes  it. 

Pickering  [much  alarmed]  Oh!  but  youre  coming 
back  to  Wimpole  Street,  arnt  you?  Youll  forgive  Hig- 
gins? 

Higgins  [ming]  Forgive!  Will  she,  by  George!  Let 
her  go.  Let  her  find  out  how  she  can  get  on  without  us. 
She  will  relapse  into  the  gutter  in  three  weeks  without 
me  at  her  elbow. 


198  Pygmalion  Act  V 

Doolittle  appears  at  the  centre  window.  With  a  look 
of  dignified  reproach  at  Higgins,  he  conies  slowly  and 
silently  to  his  daughter,  who,  with  her  back  to  the  win- 
dow, is  unconscious  of  his  approach. 

Pickering.  Hes  incorrigible,  Eliza.  You  wont  relapse, 
will  you.'' 

Liza.  No :  Not  now.  Never  again.  I  have  learnt  my  les- 
son. I  dont  believe  I  could  utter  one  of  the  old  sounds 
if  I  tried.  [Doolittle  touches  her  on  her  left  shoulder. 
She  drops  her  work,  losing  her  self-possession  utterly  at 
the  spectacle  of  her  father's  splendor]  A-a-a-a-a-ah-ow- 
ooh! 

Higgins  [with  a  crow  of  triumph]  Aha!  Just  so.  A-a- 
a-a-ahowooh !  A-a-a-a-ahowooh !  A-a-a-a-ahowooh  !  Vic- 
tory !  Victory !  [He  throws  himself  on  the  divan,  folding 
his  arms,  and  spraddling  arrogantly]. 

Doolittle.  Can  you  blame  the  girl?  Dont  look  at  me 
like  that,  Eliza.  It  aint  my  fault.  Ive  come  into  some 
money. 

Liza.  You  must  have  touched  a  millionaire  this  time, 
dad. 

Doolittle.  I  have.  But  Fm  dressed  something  special 
today.  I'm  going  to  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  Your 
stepmother  is  going  to  marry  me. 

Liza  [angrily]  Youre  going  to  let  yourself  down  to 
marry  that  low  common  woman ! 

Pickering  [quietly]  He  ought  to,  Eliza.  [To  Doolit- 
tle] Why  has  she  changed  her  mind? 

Doolittle  [sadly]  Intimidated,  Governor.  Intimidat- 
ed. Middle  class  morality  claims  its  victim.  Wont  you  put 
on  your  hat,  Liza,  and  come  and  see  me  turned  off? 

Liza.  If  the  Colonel  says  I  must,  I — I'll  [ahnost  sob- 
bi7ig]  I'll  demean  myself.  And  get  insulted  for  my  pains, 
like  enough. 

Doolittle.  Dont  be  afraid:  she  never  comes  to  words 


Act  V  Pygmalion  199 

with  anyone  now,  poor  woman !  respectability  has  broke 
all  the  spirit  out  of  her. 

Pickering  [squee::ing  Eliza's  elbow  gently]  Be  kind 
to  them,  Eliza.  ]\Iake  the  best  of  it. 

Liza  [forcmg  a  little  smile  for  Mm  through  her  vexa- 
tion] Oh  well,  just  to  shew  theres  no  ill  feeling.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  moment.  ^She  goes  out]  . 

DooLiTTLE  {sitting  down  beside  Pickering]  I  feel  un- 
common nervous  about  the  ceremony.  Colonel.  I  wish 
youd  come  and  see  me  through  it. 

Pickering.  But  youve  been  through  it  before,  man. 
You  were  married  to  Eliza's  mother. 

DooLiTTLE.  Who  told  you  that.  Colonel.'' 

Pickering.  Well,  nobody  told  me.  But  I  concluded — 
naturally — 

DooLiTTLE.  No:  that  aint  the  natural  way.  Colonel: 
it's  only  the  middle  class  way.  My  way  was  always  the 
undeserving  way.  But  dont  say  nothing  to  Eliza.  She 
dont  know:   I  always  had  a  delicacy  about  telling  her, 

Pickering.  Quite  right.  We'll  leave  it  so,  if  you  dont 
mind. 

DooLiTTLE.  And  youll  come  to  the  church,  Colonel, 
and  put  me  through  straight? 

Pickering.  With  pleasure.  As  far  as  a  bachelor  can. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  May  I  come,  Mr.  Doolittle?  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  miss  your  wedding. 

Doolittle.  I  should  indeed  be  honored  by  your  con- 
descension, maam ;  and  my  poor  old  woman  would  take  it 
as  a  tremenjous  compliment.  Shes  been  very  low,  thinking 
of  the  happy  days  that  are  no  more. 

Mrs.  Higgins  [mzn^]  I'll  order  the  carriage  and  get 
ready.  [The  men  rise,  except  Higgins].  I  shant  be  more 
than  fifteen  minutes.  [As  she  goes  to  the  door  Eliza  comes 
in,  hatted  and  buttoning  her  gloves].  I'm  going  to  the 
church  to  see  your  father  married,  Eliza.  You  had  better 


200  Pygmalion  Act  V 

come  in  the  brougham  with  me.  Colonel  Pickering  can  go 
on  with  the  bridegroom. 

Mrs.  Higgins  goes  out.  Eliza  comes  to  the  middle  of 
the  room  between  the  centre  window  and  the  ottoman. 
Pickering  joins  her. 

DooLiTTLE.  Bridegroom!  What  a  word!  It  makes  a 
man  realize  his  position,  somehow.  [He  takes  up  his  hat 
and  goes  towards  the  door]. 

Pickering.  Before  I  go,  Eliza,  do  forgive  him  and 
come  back  to  us. 

Liza.  I  dont  think  papa  would  allow  me.  Would  you, 
dad? 

DooLiTTLE  [sad  but  magnanimous]  They  played  you 
off  very  cunning,  Eliza,  them  two  sportsmen.  If  it  had 
been  only  one  of  them,  you  could  have  nailed  him.  But 
you  see,  there  was  two;  and  one  of  them  chaperoned  the 
other,  as  you  might  say.  [To  Pickering]  It  was  artful 
of  you.  Colonel ;  but  I  bear  no  malice :  I  should  have  done 
the  same  myself.  I  been  the  victim  of  one  woman  after 
another  all  my  life;  and  I  dont  grudge  you  two  getting 
the  better  of  Eliza.  I  shant  interfere.  It's  time  for  us  to 
go.  Colonel.  So  long,  Henry.  See  you  in  St.  George's, 
Eliza.   [lie  goes  out]. 

Pickering  [coaxing]  Do  stay  with  us,  Eliza.  [He  fol- 
lows Doolittle]. 

Eliza  goes  out  on  the  balcony  to  avoid  being  alone  with 
Higgins.  He  rises  and  joins  her  there.  She  immediately 
comes  back  into  the  room  and  makes  for  the  door;  but 
he  goes  along  the  balcony  quickly  and  gets  his  back  to  the 
door  before  she  reaches  it. 

Higgins.  Well,  Eliza,  youve  had  a  bit  of  your  own 
back,  as  you  call  it.  Have  you  had  enough?  and  are  you 
going  to  be  reasonable?  Or  do  you  want  any  more? 

Liza.  You  want  me  back  only  to  pick  up  your  slippers 
and  put  up  with  your  tempers  and  fetch  and  carry  for 
you. 


Act  V  Pygmalion  201 

HiGGiNs.  I  havnt  said  I  wanted  you  back  at  all. 

Liza.     Oh,  indeed.     Then  what  are  we  talking  about? 

HiGGiNs.  About  you,  not  about  me.  If  you  come  back 
I  shall  treat  you  just  as  I  have  always  treated  you.  I 
cant  change  my  nature ;  and  I  dont  intend  to  change  my 
manners.  My  manners  are  exactly  the  same  as  Colonel 
Pickering's. 

Liza.  Thats  not  true.  He  treats  a  flower  girl  as  if 
she  was  a  duchess. 

HiGGiNs.  And  I  treat  a  duchess  as  if  she  was  a  flower 
girl. 

Liza.  I  see.  [She  turns  away  composedly,  and  sits 
on  the  ottoman,  facing  the  window^ .  The  same  to  every- 
body. 

HiGGiNs.     Just  so. 

Liza.     Like  father. 

HiGGiNs  \grinning,  a  little  taken  down]  Without  ac- 
cepting the  comjjarison  at  all  points,  Eliza,  it's  quite  true 
that  your  father  is  not  a  snob,  and  that  he  will  be  quite  at 
home  in  any  station  of  life  to  which  his  eccentric  destiny 
may  call  him.  [Seriously]  The  great  secret,  Eliza,  is  not 
having  bad  manners  or  good  manners  or  any  other  particu- 
lar sort  of  manners,  but  having  the  same  manner  for  all 
human  souls :  in  short,  behaving  as  if  you  were  in  Heaven, 
where  there  are  no  third-class  carriages,  and  one  soul  is 
as  good  as  another. 

Liza.     Amen.     You  are  a  born  preacher. 

HiGGiNs  [irritated]  The  question  is  not  whether  I  treat 
you  rudely,  but  whether  you  ever  heard  me  treat  anyone 
else  better. 

Liza  [with  sudden  sincerity]  I  dont  care  how  you  treat 
me.  I  dont  mind  your  swearing  at  me.  I  dont  mind  a 
black  eye:  Ive  had  one  before  this.  But  [standing  up  and 
facing  him]   I  wont  be  passed  over. 

HiGGiNS.  Then  get  out  of  my  way;  for  I  wont  stop 
for  you.     You  talk  about  me  as  if  I  were  a  motor  bus. 


202  Pygmalion  Act  V 

Liza.  So  you  are  a  motor  bus :  all  bounce  and  go,  and 
no  consideration  for  anyone.  But  I  can  do  without  you: 
dont  think  I  cant. 

HiGGiNS.     I  know  you  can.    I  told  you  you  could. 

Liza  [wounded,  getting  away  from  him  to  the  other 
side  of  the  ottoman  with  her  face  to  the  hearth^  I  know 
you  did,  you  brute.     You  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me. 

HiGGiNs.     Liar. 

Liza.     Thank  you.      \She  sits  down  with  dignity^. 

HiGGiNs.  You  never  asked  yourself,  I  suppose,  wheth- 
er I  could  do  without  you. 

Liza  [earnestly^  Dont  you  try  to  get  round  me.  YouU 
have  to  do   without  me. 

HiGGiNs  [arrogant^  I  can  do  without  anybody.  I  have 
my  own  soul:  my  own  spark  of  divine  fire.  But  [with 
sudden  humility^  I  shall  miss  you,  Eliza.  \He  sits  down 
near  her  on  the  ottoman] .  I  have  learnt  something  from 
your  idiotic  notions :  I  confess  that  humbly  and  gratefully. 
And  I  have  grown  accustomed  to  your  voice  and  appear- 
ance.    I  like  them,  rather. 

Liza.  Well,  you  have  both  of  them  on  your  gramo- 
phone and  in  your  book  of  photographs.  When  you  feel 
lonely  without  me,  you  can  turn  the  machine  on.  It's 
got  no  feelings  to  hurt. 

HiGGiNs.  I  cant  turn  your  soul  on.  Leave  me  those 
feelings;  and  you  can  take  away  the  voice  and  the  face. 
They  are  not  you. 

Liza.  Oh,  you  area  devil.  You  can  twist  the  heart 
in  a  girl  as  easy  as  some  could  twist  her  arms  to  hurt 
her.  Mrs.  Pearce  warned  me.  Time  and  again  she  has 
wanted  to  leave  you;  and  you  always  got  round  her  at 
the  last  minute.  And  you  dont  care  a  bit  for  her.  And 
you  dont  care  a  bit  for  me. 

HiGGiNs,  I  care  for  life,  for  humanity;  and  you  are 
a  part  of  it  that  has  come  my  way  and  been  built  into 
my  house.     What  more  can  you  or  anyone  ask.'' 


Act  V  Pygmalion  203 

Liza.  I  wont  care  for  anybody  that  doesnt  care  for 
me. 

HiGGiNS.  Commercial  principles,  Eliza.  Like  [repro- 
ducing her  Covent  Garden  pronunciation  with  professional 
exactness]  s'yollin  voylets  [selling  violets],  isnt  it.'' 

Liza.     Dont  sneer  at  me.     It's  mean  to  sneer  at  me. 

HiGGiNs.  I  have  never  sneered  in  my  life.  Sneering 
doesnt  become  either  the  human  face  or  tlie  human  soul. 
I  am  expressing  my  righteous  contempt  for  Commercial- 
ism. I  dont  and  wont  trade  in  affection.  You  call  me  a 
brute  because  you  couldnt  buy  a  claim  on  me  by  fetching 
my  slippers  and  finding  my  spectacles.  You  were  a  fool: 
I  think  a  woman  fetching  a  man's  slippers  is  a  disgusting 
sight :  did  I  ever  fetch  your  slippers  ?  I  think  a  good 
deal  more  of  you  for  throwing  them  in  my  face.  No 
use  slaving  for  me  and  then  saying  you  want  to  be  cared 
for:  who  cares  for  a  slave?  If  you  come  back,  come  back 
for  the  sake  of  good  fellowship ;  for  youll  get  nothing  else. 
Youve  had  a  thousand  times  as  much  out  of  me  as  I  have 
out  of  you;  and  if  you  dare  to  set  up  your  little  dog's 
tricks  of  fetching  and  carrying  slippers  against  my  crea- 
tion of  a  Duchess  Eliza,  I'll  slam  the  door  in  your  silly 
face. 

Liza.    What  did  j'ou  do  it  for  if  you  didnt  care  for  me  ? 

HiGGiNs   [heartily]   Why,  because  it  was  my  job. 

Liza.  You  never  thought  of  the  trouble  it  would  make 
for  me. 

HiGGiNs.  Would  the  world  ever  have  been  made  if  its 
maker  had  been  afraid  of  making  trouble?  Making  life 
means  making  trouble.  Theres  only  one  way  of  escaping 
trouble;  and  thats  killing  things.  Cowards,  you  notice, 
are  always  shrieking  to  have  troublesome  people  killed. 

Liza.  I'm  no  preacher:  I  dont  notice  things  like  that. 
I  notice  that  you  dont  notice  me. 

HiGGiNs  [jumping  up  and  walking  about  intolerantlj/] 
Eliza :  youre  an  idiot.     I  waste  the  treasures  of  my  Mil- 


204  Pygmalion  Act  V 

tonic  mind  by  spreading  them  before  you.  Once  for  all, 
imderstand  that  I  go  my  way  and  do  my  work  without 
caring  twopence  what  happens  to  either  of  us.  I  am  not 
intimidated,  like  your  father  and  your  stepmother.  So 
you  can  come  back  or  go  to  the  devil:  which  you  please. 

Liza.     What  am  I  to  come  back  for.'' 

HiGGiNS  [bouncing  up  on  his  knees  on  the  ottoman  and 
leaning  over  it  to  her]  For  the  fun  of  it.  Thats  why  I 
took  you  on. 

Liza  [with  averted  face]  And  you  may  throw  me  out 
tomorrow  if  I  dont  do  everything  you  want  me  to.f* 

HiGGiNs.  Yes ;  and  you  may  walk  out  tomorrow  if  I 
dont  do  everything  you  want  me  to. 

Liza.     And  live  with  my  stepmother? 

HiGGiNS.     Yes,  or  sell  flowers. 

Liza.  Oh !  if  I  only  could  go  back  to  my  flower 
basket !  I  should  be  independent  of  both  you  and  father 
and  all  the  world!  Why  did  you  take  my  independence 
from  me?  Why  did  I  give  it  up?  I'm  a  slave  now,  for 
all  my  fine  clothes. 

HiGGiNS.  Not  a  bit.  I'll  adopt  you  as  my  daughter 
and  settle  money  on  you  if  you  like.  Or  would  you  rather 
marry  Pickering? 

Liza  [looJcing  fiercely  round  at  him]  I  wouldnt  marry 
y  o  u  if  you  asked  me ;  and  youre  nearer  my  age  than 
what  he  is. 

HiGGiNs   [gently]   Than  he  is:  not  "than  what  he  is." 

Liza  [losing  her  temper  and  rising]  I'll  talk  as  I  like. 
Youre  not  my  teacher  now. 

HiGGiNs  [reflectively]  I  dont  suppose  Pickering  would, 
though.     Hes  as  confirmed  an  old  bachelor  as  I  am. 

Liza.  Thats  not  what  I  want;  and  dont  you  think  it. 
Ive  always  had  chaps  enough  wanting  me  that  way. 
Freddy  Hill  writes  to  me  twice  and  three  times  a  day, 
sheets  and  sheets. 


Act  V  Pygmalion  205 

HiGGiNs  [disagreeably  surprised]  Daiun  his  impu- 
dence! [He  recoils  and  finds  himself  sitting  on  his 
heels] . 

Liza.  He  has  a  right  to  if  he  likes,  poor  lad.  And 
he  does  love  me. 

HiGGiNs  [getting  off  the  ottoman]  You  have  no  right 
to  encourage  him. 

Liza.     Every  girl  has  a  right  to  be  loved. 

HiGGiNS.     What!     By  fools  like  that? 

Liza.  Freddy's  not  a  fool.  And  if  hes  weak  and  poor 
and  wants  me,  may  be  hed  make  me  happier  than  my 
betters  that  bully  me  and  dont  want  me. 

HiGGiNs.  Can  he  make  anything  of  you?  Thats 
the  point. 

Liza.  Perhaps  I  could  make  something  of  him.  But 
I  never  thought  of  us  making  anything  of  one  another; 
and  you  never  think  of  anything  else.  I  only  want  to  be 
natural. 

HiGGiNs.  In  short,  you  want  me  to  be  as  infatuated 
about  you  as  Freddy?     Is  that  it? 

Liza.  No  I  dont.  Thats  not  the  sort  of  feeling  I 
want  from  you.  And  dont  you  be  too  sure  of  yourself  or 
of  me.  I  could  have  been  a  bad  girl  if  I'd  liked.  Ive 
seen  more  of  some  things  than  you,  for  all  your  learning. 
Girls  like  me  can  drag  gentlemen  down  to  make  love  to 
them  easy  enough.  And  they  wish  each  otlier  dead  the 
next  minute. 

HiGGiNs.  Of  course  they  do.  Then  what  in  thunder 
are  we  quarrelling  about? 

Liza  [much  troubled]  I  want  a  little  kindness.  I  know 
I'm  a  common  ignorant  girl,  and  you  a  book-learned  gen- 
tleman; but  I'm  not  dirt  under  your  feet.  What  I  done 
[correcting  herself]  wliat  I  did  was  not  for  the  dresses 
and  the  taxis:  I  did  it  because  we  were  pleasant  together 
and  I  come — came — to  care  for  you;  not  to  want  you  to 


206  Pygmalion  Act  V 

make  love  to  me,  and  not  forgetting  the  difference  between 
us,  but  more  friendly  like. 

HiGGiNs.  Well,  of  course.  Thats  just  how  I  feel. 
And  how  Pickering  feels.     Eliza:  youre  a  fool. 

Liza.  Thats  not  a  proper  answer  to  give  me  [she  sinks 
on  the  chair  at  the  writing-table  in  tears]. 

HiGGiNs.  It's  all  youll  get  until  you  stop  being  a 
common  idiot.  If  youre  going  to  be  a  lady,  youll  have  to 
give  up  feeling  neglected  if  the  men  you  know  dont  spend 
half  their  time  snivelling  over  you  and  the  other  half 
giving  you  black  eyes.  If  you  cant  stand  the  coldness  of 
my  sort  of  life,  and  the  strain  of  it,  go  back  to  the  gutter. 
Work  til  you  are  more  a  brute  than  a  human  being;  and 
then  cuddle  and  squabble  and  drink  til  you  fall  asleep. 
Oh,  it's  a  fine  life,  the  life  of  the  gutter.  It's  real:  it's 
warm:  it's  violent:  you  can  feel  it  through  the  thickest 
skin :  you  can  taste  it  and  smell  it  without  any  training  or 
any  work.  Not  like  Science  and  Literature  and  Classical 
Music  and  Philosophy  and  Art.  You  find  me  cold,  un- 
feeling, selfish,  dont  you?  Very  well:  be  off  with  you 
to  the  sort  of  people  you  like.  Marry  some  sentimental 
hog  or  other  with  lots  of  money,  and  a  thick  pair  of  lips 
to  kiss  you  with  and  a  thick  pair  of  boots  to  kick  you 
with.  If  you  cant  appreciate  what  youve  got,  youd  better 
get  what  you  can  appreciate. 

Liza  [desperate]  Oh,  you  are  a  cruel  tyrant.  I  cant 
talk  to  you:  you  turn  everything  against  me:  I'm  always 
in  the  wrong.  But  you  know  very  well  all  the  time  that 
youre  nothing  but  a  bully.  You  know  I  cant  go  back  to 
the  gutter,  as  you  call  it,  and  that  I  have  no  real  friends 
in  the  world  but  you  and  the  Colonel.  You  know  well  I 
couldnt  bear  to  live  with  a  low  common  man  after  you 
two ;  and  it's  wicked  and  cruel  of  you  to  insult  me  by  pre- 
tending I  could.  You  think  I  must  go  back  to  Wimpole 
Street  because  I  have  nowhere  else  to  go  but  father's. 
But  dont  you  be  too  sure  that  you  have  me  vmder  your 


Act  V  P^^gmalion  207 

feet  to  be  trampled  on  and  talked  down.  I'll  marry 
Freddy,  I  will,  as  soon  as  lies  able  to  support  me. 

HiGGiNs  [sitting  down  beside  /ter]  Rubbish!  you  shall 
marry  an  ambassador.  You  shall  marry  the  Governor- 
General  of  India  or  the  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  or 
somebody  who  wants  a  deputy-queen.  I'm  not  going  to 
have  my  masterpiece  thrown  away  on  Freddy. 

Liza,  You  think  I  like  you  to  say  that.  But  I  havnt 
forgot  what  you  said  a  minute  ago ;  and  I  wont  be  coaxed 
round  as  if  I  was  a  baby  or  a  puppy.  If  I  cant  have  kind- 
ness, I'll  have  independence. 

HiGGiNS.  Independence?  Thats  middle  class  blas- 
phemy. We  are  all  dependent  on  one  another,  every  soul 
of  us  on  earth. 

Liza  [rising  determinedly^  I'll  let  you  see  whether  I'm 
dependent  on  you.  If  you  can  preach,  I  can  teach.  I'll  go 
and  be  a  teacher. 

HiGGiNs.  Whatll  you  teach,  in  heaven's  name? 

Liza.  What  you  taught  me.  I'll  teach  phonetics. 

HiGGiNs.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

Liza.  I'll  offer  myself  as  an  assistant  to  Professor 
Nepean. 

HiGGiNs  [rising  in  a  ftiry]  What!  That  impostor!  that 
humbug !  that  toadying  ignoramus !  Teach  him  my  meth- 
ods !  my  discoveries !  You  take  one  step  in  his  direction 
and  I'll  wring  your  neck.  [He  lays  hands  on  her].  Do 
3^ou  hear? 

Liza  [defiantly  non-resistant]  Wring  away.  What  do  I 
care?  I  knew  youd  strike  me  some  day.  [He  lets  her  go, 
stamping  with  rage  at  having  forgotten  himself,  and  re- 
coils so  hastily  that  he  stumbles  back  into  his  seat  on  the 
ottoman].  Aha!  Now  I  know  how  to  deal  with  you.  What 
a  fool  I  was  not  to  think  of  it  before !  You  cant  take  away 
the  knowledge  you  gave  me.  You  said  I  had  a  finer  ear 
than  you.  And  I  can  be  civil  and  kind  to  people,  which 
is  more  than  you  can.  Aha !  Thats  done  you,  Henry  Hig- 


208  Pygmalion  Act  V 

gins,  it  has.  Now  I  dont  care  that  [snapping  her  fingers] 
for  your  bullying  and  your  big  talk.  I'll  advertize  it  in 
the  papers  that  your  duchess  is  only  a  flower  girl  that  you 
taught,  and  that  she'll  teach  anybody  to  be  a  duchess  just 
the  same  in  six  months  for  a  thousand  guineas.  Oh,  when 
I  think  of  myself  crawling  under  your  feet  and  being 
trampled  on  and  called  names,  when  all  the  time  I  had 
only  to  lift  up  my  finger  to  be  as  good  as  you,  I  could  just 
kick  myself. 

HiGGiNs  [wondering  at  her]  You  damned  impudent 
slut,  you!  But  it's  better  than  snivelling;  better  than 
fetching  slippers  and  finding  spectacles,  isnt  it?  [Rising] 
By  George,  Eliza,  I  said  I'd  make  a  woman  of  you;  and 
I  have.     I  like  you  like  this. 

Liza.  Yes :  you  turn  round  and  make  up  to  me  now  that 
I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  and  can  do  without  you. 

HiGGiNs.  Of  course  I  do,  you  little  fool.  Five  minutes 
ago  you  were  like  a  millstone  round  my  neck.  Now  youre 
a  tower  of  strength:  a  consort  battleship.  You  and  I  and 
Pickering  will  be  three  old  bachelors  together  instead  of 
only  two  men  and  a  silly  girl. 

Mrs.  Higgins  returns,  dressed  for  the  wedding.  Eliza 
instantly  becomes  cool  and  elegant. 

Mrs.  Higgins.  The  carriage  is  waiting,  Eliza.  Are  you 
ready  ? 

Liza.  Quite.  Is  the  Professor  coming? 

Mrs.  Higgins.  Certainly  not.  He  cant  behave  himself 
in  church.  He  makes  remarks  out  loud  all  the  time  on 
the  clergyman's  pronunciation. 

Liza.  Then  I  shall  not  see  you  again.  Professor.  Good 
bye.   [She  goes  to  the  door]. 

Mrs.  Higgins    [coming  to  Higgins]    Good-bye,  dear. 

Higgins.  Good-bye,  mother.  [He  is  about  to  kiss  her, 
when  he  recollects  something].  Oh,  by  the  way,  Eliza, 
order  a  ham  and  a  Stilton  cheese,  will  you?  And  buy 
me  a  pair  of  reindeer  gloves,  number  eights,  and  a  tie 


Act  y  Pygmalion  209 

to  match  that  new  suit  of  mine,  at  Eale  &  Binman's.  You 
can  choose  the  color,  [His  cheerful,  careless,  vigorous 
voice  shows  that  he  is  incorrigible], 

Liza  [disdainfully]  Buy  them  yourself.  [She  srveeps 
out], 

Mrs.  Higgins.  I'm  afraid  youve  spoiled  that  girl,  Hen- 
ry. But  never  mind,  dear:  I'll  buy  you  the  tie  and  gloves. 

Higgins  [sunnily]  Oh,  dont  bother.  She'll  buy  em  all 
right  enough.  Good-bye. 

They  kiss.  Mrs.  Higgins  runs  out.  Higgins,  left  alone, 
rattles  his  cash  in  his  pocket;  chuckles;  and  disports 
himself  in  a  highly  self-satisfied  manner. 


The  rest  of  the  story  need  not  be  shown  in  action,  and 
indeed,  would  hardly  need  telling  if  our  imaginations 
were  not  so  enfeebled  by  their  lazy  dependence  on  the 
ready-mades  and  reach-me-downs  of  the  ragshop  in  which 
Romance  keeps  its  stock  of  "happy  endings"  to  misfit 
all  stories.  Now,  the  history  of  Eliza  Doolittle,  though 
called  a  romance  because  of  the  transfiguration  it  records 
seems  exceedingly  improbable,  is  common  enough.  Such 
transfigurations  have  been  achieved  by  hundreds  of  reso- 
lutely ambitions  young  women  since  Nell  Gwynne  set 
them  the  example  by  playing  queens  and  fascinating  kings 
in  the  theatre  in  which  she  began  by  selling  oranges. 
Nevertheless,  people  in  all  directions  have  assumed,  for 
no  other  reason  than  that  she  became  the  heroine  of  a 
romance,  that  she  must  have  married  the  hero  of  it.  This 
is  unbearable,  not  only  because  her  little  drama,  if  acted 
on  such  a  thoughtless  assumption,  must  be  spoiled,  but 
because  the  true  sequel  is  patent  to  anyone  with  a  sense 
of  human  nature  in  general,  and  of  feminine  instinct  in 
particular. 

Eliza,  in  telling  Higgins  she  would  not  marry  him  if 
he  asked  her,  was  not  coquetting:  she  was  announcing  a 
23 


210  Pygmalion 

well-considered  decision.  Wlien  a  bachelor  interests,  and 
dominates,  and  teaches,  and  becomes  important  to  a  spin- 
ster, as  Higgins  with  Eliza,  she  always,  if  she  has  char- 
acter enough  to  be  capable  of  it,  considers  very  seriously 
indeed  whether  she  will  play  for  becoming  that  bachelor's 
wife,  especially  if  he  is  so  little  interested  in  marriage 
that  a  determined  and  devoted  woman  might  capture  him 
if  she  set  herself  resolutely  to  do  it.  Her  decision  will 
depend  a  good  deal  on  whether  she  is  really  free  to 
choose;  and  that,  again,  will  depend  on  her  age  and  in- 
come. If  she  is  at  the  end  of  her  youth,  and  has  no  se- 
curity for  her  livelihood,  she  will  marry  him  because  she 
must  marry  anybody  who  will  provide  for  her.  But  at 
Eliza's  age  a  good-looking  girl  does  not  feel  that  pres- 
sure: she  feels  free  to  pick  and  choose.  She  is  therefore 
guided  by  her  instinct  in  the  matter.  Eliza's  instinct 
tells  her  not  to  marry  Higgins.  It  does  not  tell  her  to 
give  him  up.  It  is  not  in  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  his 
remaining  one  of  the  strongest  personal  interests  in  her 
life.  It  would  be  very  sorely  strained  if  there  was  an- 
other woman  likely  to  supplant  her  with  him.  But  as 
she  feels  sure  of  him  on  that  last  point,  she  has  no  doubt 
at  all  as  to  her  course,  and  would  not  have  any,  even  if  the 
difference  of  twenty  years  in  age,  which  seems  so  great 
to  youth,  did  not  exist  between  them. 

As  our  own  instincts  are  not  appealed  to  by  her  con- 
clusion, let  us  see  whether  we  cannot  discover  some  reason 
in  it.  When  Higgins  excused  his  indifference  to  young 
women  on  the  ground  that  they  had  an  irresistible  rival 
in  his  mother,  he  gave  the  clue  to  his  inveterate  old- 
bachelordom.  The  case  is  uncommon  only  to  the  extent 
that  remarkable  mothers  are  uncommon.  If  an  imagi- 
native boy  has  a  sufficiently  rich  mother  who  has  intelli- 
gence, personal  grace,  dignity  of  character  without  harsh- 
ness, and  a  cultivated  sense  of  the  best  art  of  her  time 
to  enable  her  to  make  her  house  beautiful,  she  sets  a 


Pygmalion  211 

standard  for  him  against  which  very  few  women  can 
struggle,  besides  effecting  for  him  a  disengagement  of 
his  affections,  his  sense  of  beauty,  and  his  idealism  from 
his  specifically  sexual  impulses.  This  makes  him  a  stand- 
ing puzzle  to  the  huge  number  of  uncultivated  people 
who  have  been  brought  up  in  tasteless  homes  by  common- 
place or  disagreeable  parents,  and  to  whom,  consequently, 
literature,  painting,  sculpture,  music,  and  affectionate  per- 
sonal relations  come  as  modes  of  sex  if  they  come  at  all. 
The  word  passion  means  nothing  else  to  them;  and  that 
Higgins  could  have  a  passion  for  phonetics  and  idealize 
his  mother  instead  of  Eliza,  Avould  seem  to  them  absurd 
and  unnatural.  Nevertheless,  when  we  look  round  and 
see  that  hardly  anyone  is  too  ugly  or  disagreeable  to  find 
a  wife  or  a  husband  if  he  or  she  wants  one,  whilst  many 
old  maids  and  bachelors  are  above  the  average  in  quality 
and  culture,  we  cannot  help  suspecting  that  the  dis- 
entanglement of  sex  from  the  associations  with  which  it 
is  so  commonly  confused,  a  disentanglement  which  per- 
sons of  genius  achieve  by  sheer  intellectual  analysis,  is 
sometimes  produced  or  aided  by  parental  fascination. 

Now,  though  Eliza  was  incapable  of  thus  explaining  to 
herself  Higgins's  formidable  powers  of  resistance  to  the 
charm  that  prostrated  Freddy  at  the  first  glance,  she  was 
instinctively  aware  that  she  could  never  obtain  a  complete 
grip  of  him,  or  come  between  him  and  his  mother  (the 
first  necessity  of  the  married  woman).  To  put  it  shortly, 
she  knew  that  for  some  mysterious  reason  he  had  not  the 
makings  of  a  married  man  in  him,  according  to  her  con- 
ception of  a  husband  as  one  to  whom  she  would  be  his 
nearest  and  fondest  and  warmest  interest.  Even  had 
there  been  no  mother-rival,  she  would  still  have  refused 
to  accept  an  interest  in  herself  that  was  secondary  to 
philosophic  interests.  Had  Mrs.  Higgins  died,  there 
would  still  have  been  Milton  and  the  Universal  Alpha- 
bet.   Landor's  remark  that  to  those  who  have  the  greatest 


212  Pygmalion 

power  of  loving,  love  is  a  secondary  affair,  would  not 
have  recommended  Landor  to  Eliza.  Put  that  along 
with  her  resentment  of  Higgins's  domineering  superior- 
ity, and  her  mistrust  of  his  coaxing  cleverness  in  getting 
round  her  and  evading  her  wrath  when  he  had  gone  too 
far  with  his  impetuous  bullying,  and  you  will  see  that 
Eliza's  instinct  had  good  grounds  for  warning  her  not  to 
marry  her  Pygmalion. 

And  now,  whom  did  Eliza  marry  ?  For  if  Higgins  was 
a  predestinate  old  bachelor,  she  was  most  certainly  not  a 
predestinate  old  maid.  Well,  that  can  be  told  very  short- 
ly to  those  who  have  not  guessed  it  from  the  indications 
she  has  herself  given  them. 

Almost  immediately  after  Eliza  is  stung  into  proclaim- 
ing her  considered  determination  not  to  marry  Higgins, 
she  mentions  the  fact  that  young  Mr.  Frederick  Eyns- 
ford  Hill  is  pouring  out  his  love  for  her  daily  through  the 
post.  Now  Freddy  is  young,  practically  twenty  years 
younger  than  Higgins:  he  is  a  gentleman  (or,  as  Eliza 
would  qualify  him,  a  toff),  and  speaks  like  one;  he  is 
nicely  dressed,  is  treated  by  the  Colonel  as  an  equal, 
loves  her  unaffectedly,  and  is  not  her  master,  nor  ever 
likely  to  dominate  her  in  spite  of  his  advantage  of  social 
standing.  Eliza  has  no  use  for  the  foolish  romantic 
tradition  that  all  women  love  to  be  mastered,  if  not  ac- 
tually bullied  and  beaten.  "When  you  go  to  women," 
says  Nietzsche,  "take  your  whip  with  you."  Sensible 
despots  have  never  confined  that  precaution  to  women: 
they  have  taken  their  whips  with  them  when  they  have 
dealt  with  men,  and  been  slavishly  idealized  by  the  men 
over  whom  they  have  flourished  the  whip  much  more  than 
by  women.  No  doubt  there  are  slavish  women  as  well 
as  slavish  men;  and  women,  like  men,  admire  those  that 
are  stronger  than  themselves.  But  to  admire  a  strong 
person  and  to  live  vmder  that  strong  person's  thumb  are 
two  different  things.     The  weak  may  not  be  admired  and 


Pygmalion  213 

hero-worshipped;  but  they  are  by  no  means  disliked  or 
shunned;  and  they  never  seem  to  have  the  least  diffieulty 
in  marrying  people  who  are  too  good  for  them.  They 
may  fail  in  emergencies;  but  life  is  not  one  long  emer- 
gency: it  is  mostly  a  string  of  situations  for  which  no 
exceptional  strength  is  needed,  and  with  which  even  rath- 
er weak  people  can  cope  if  they  have  a  stronger  partner 
to  help  them  out.  Accordingly,  it  is  a  truth  everywhere 
in  evidence  that  strong  people,  masculine  or  feminine, 
not  only  do  not  marry  stronger  people,  but  do  not  shew 
any  preference  for  them  in  selecting  their  friends.  When 
a  lion  meets  another  with  a  louder  roar  "the  first  lion 
thinks  the  last  a  bore."  The  man  or  woman  who  feels 
strong  enough  for  two,  seeks  for  every  other  quality  in 
a   partner  than   strength. 

The  converse  is  also  true.  Weak  people  want  to  mar- 
ry strong  people  who  do  not  frighten  them  too  much; 
and  this  often  leads  them  to  make  the  mistake  we  de- 
scribe metaphorically  as  "biting  off  more  than  they  can 
chew."  They  want  too  much  for  too  little;  and  when 
the  bargain  is  unreasonable  beyond  all  bearing,  the  union 
becomes  impossible:  it  ends  in  the  weaker  party  being 
either  discarded  or  borne  as  a  cross,  which  is  worse. 
People  who  are  not  only  weak,  but  silly  or  obtuse  as  well, 
are  often  in  these  difficulties. 

This  being  the  state  of  human  affairs,  what  is  Eliza 
fairly  sure  to  do  when  she  is  placed  between  Freddy  and 
Higgins?  Will  she  look  forward  to  a  lifetime  of  fetch- 
ing Higgins's  slippers  or  to  a  lifetime  of  Freddy  fetch- 
ing hers?  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  answer. 
Unless  Freddy  is  biologically  repulsive  to  her,  and  Hig- 
gins biologically  attractive  to  a  degree  that  overwhelms 
all  her  other  instincts,  she  will,  if  she  marries  either  of 
them,  marry  Freddy. 

And  that  is  just  what  Eliza  did. 

Complications   ensued;   but  they   were   economic,   not 


214  Pygmalion 

romantic.  Freddy  had  no  money  and  no  occupation. 
His  mother's  jointure^  a  last  relic  of  the  opulence  of 
Largelady  Park,  had  enabled  her  to  struggle  along  in 
Earlscourt  with  an  air  of  gentility,  but  not  to  procure 
any  serious  secondary  education  for  her  children,  much 
less  give  the  boy  a  profession.  A  clerkship  at  thirty 
shillings  a  week  was  beneath  Freddy's  dignity,  and  ex- 
tremely distasteful  to  him  besides.  His  prospects  con- 
sisted of  a  hope  that  if  he  kept  up  appearances  somebody 
would  do  something  for  him.  The  something  appeared 
vaguely  to  his  imagination  as  a  private  secretaryship  or 
a  sinecure  of  some  sort.  To  his  mother  it  perhaps  ap- 
peared as  a  marriage  to  some  lady  of  means  who  could 
not  resist  her  boy's  niceness.  Fancy  her  feelings  when 
he  married  a  flower  girl  who  had  become  declassee  under 
extraordinary  circumstances  which  were  now  notorious! 

It  is  true  that  Eliza's  situation  did  not  seem  wholly 
ineligible.  Her  father,  though  formerly  a  dustman,  and 
now  fantastically  disclassed,  had  become  extremely  pop- 
ular in  the  smartest  society  by  a  social  talent  which  tri- 
umphed over  every  prejudice  and  every  disadvantage. 
Rejected  by  the  middle  class,  which  he  loathed,  he  had 
shot  up  at  once  into  the  highest  circles  by  his  wit,  his 
dustmanship  (which  he  carried  like  a  banner),  and  his 
Nietzschean  transcendence  of  good  and  evil.  At  intimate 
ducal  dinners  he  sat  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Duchess; 
and  in  country  houses  he  smoked  in  the  pantry  and  was 
made  much  of  by  the  butler  when  he  was  not  feeding 
in  the  dining-room  and  being  consulted  by  cabinet  min- 
isters. But  he  found  it  almost  as  hard  to  do  all  this  on 
four  thousand  a  year  as  Mrs.  Eynsford  Hill  to  live  in 
Earlscourt  on  an  income  so  pitiably  smaller  that  I  have 
not  the  heart  to  disclose  its  exact  figure.  He  absolutely 
refused  to  add  the  last  straw  to  his  burden  by  contrib- 
uting to  Eliza's  support. 

Thus  Freddy  and  Eliza,  now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eynsford 


Pygrnalion  215 

Hill,  woiild  have  spent  a  penniless  honeymoon  but  for  a 
wedding  present  of  £500  from  the  Colonel  to  Eliza.  It 
lasted  a  long  time  because  Freddy  did  not  know  how  to 
spend  money,  never  having  had  any  to  spend,  and  Eliza, 
socially  trained  by  a  pair  of  old  bachelors,  wore  her 
clothes  as  long  as  they  held  together  and  looked  pretty, 
without  the  least  regard  to  their  being  many  months  out 
of  fashion.  Still,  £500  will  not  last  two  young  people 
for  ever;  and  they  both  knew,  and  Eliza  felt  as  well, 
that  they  must  shift  for  themselves  in  the  end.  She 
could  quarter  herself  on  Wimpole  Street  because  it  had 
come  to  be  her  home;  but  she  was  quite  aware  that  she 
ought  not  to  quarter  Freddy  there,  and  that  it  would  not 
be  good  for  his  character  if  she  did. 

Not  that  the  Wimpole  Street  bachelors  objected.  When 
she  consulted  them,  Higgins  declined  to  be  bothered  about 
her  housing  problem  when  that  solution  was  so  simple. 
Eliza's  desire  to  have  Freddy  in  the  house  with  her 
seemed  of  no  more  importance  than  if  she  had  wanted  an 
extra  piece  of  bedroom  furniture.  Picas  as  to  Freddy's 
character,  and  the  moral  obligation  on  him  to  earn  his 
own  living,  were  lost  on  Higgins.  He  denied  that  Fred- 
dy had  any  character,  and  declared  that  if  he  tried  to  do 
any  useful  work  some  competent  person  would  have  the 
trouble  of  undoing  it:  a  procedure  involving  a  net  loss 
to  the  community,  and  great  unhappiness  to  Freddy  him- 
self, who  was  obviously  intended  by  Nature  for  such  light 
work  as  amusing  Eliza,  which,  Higgins  declared,  was  a 
much  more  useful  and  honorable  occupation  than  working 
in  the  city.  When  Eliza  referred  again  to  her  project 
of  teaching  phonetics,  Higgins  abated  not  a  jot  of  his 
violent  opposition  to  it.  He  said  she  was  not  within  ten 
years  of  being  qualified  to  meddle  with  his  pet  subject; 
and  as  it  was  evident  that  the  Colonel  agreed  with  him, 
she  felt  she  could  not  go  against  them  in  this  grave  mat- 
ter, and  that  she  had  no  right,  without  Higgins's  consent. 


216  Pygmalion 

to  exploit  the  knowledge  he  had  given  her ;  for  his  knowl- 
edge seemed  to  her  as  mucli  his  private  property  as  his 
watch:  Eliza  was  no  communist.  Besides,  she  was  su- 
perstitiously  devoted  to  them,  both,  more  entirely  and 
frankly  after  her  marriage  than  before  it. 

It  was  the  Colonel  who  finally  solved  the  problem, 
which  had  cost  him  much  perplexed  cogitation.  He  one 
day  asked  Eliza,  rather  shyly,  whether  she  had  quite  giv- 
en up  her  notion  of  keeping  a  flower  shop.  She  replied 
that  she  had  thought  of  it,  but  had  put  it  out  of  her 
head,  because  the  Colonel  had  said,  that  day  at  Mrs. 
Higgins's,  that  it  would  never  do.  The  Colonel  con- 
fessed that  when  he  said  that,  he  had  not  quite  recovered 
from  the  dazzling  impression  of  the  day  before.  They 
broke  the  matter  to  Higgins  that  evening.  The  sole 
comment  vouchsafed  by  him  very  nearly  led  to  a  serious 
quarrel  with  Eliza.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  she  would 
have  in  Freddy  an  ideal  errand  boy. 

Freddy  himself  was  next  sounded  on  the  subject.  He 
said  he  had  been  thinking  of  a  shop  himself;  though  it 
had  presented  itself  to  his  pennilessness  as  a  small  place 
in  which  Eliza  should  sell  tobacco  at  one  counter  whilst 
he  sold  newspapers  at  the  opposite  one.  But  he  agreed 
that  it  would  be  extraordinarily  jolly  to  go  early  every 
morning  with  Eliza  to  Covent  Garden  and  buy  flowers 
on  the  scene  of  their  first  meeting:  a  sentiment  which 
earned  him  many  kisses  from  his  wife.  He  added  that 
he  had  always  been  afraid  to  propose  anything  of  the 
sort,  because  Clara  would  make  an  awful  row  about  a  step 
that  must  damage  her  matrimonial  chances,  and  his  moth- 
er could  not  be  expected  to  like  it  after  clinging  for  so 
many  years  to  that  step  of  the  social  ladder  on  which 
retail  trade  is  impossible. 

This  difficulty  was  removed  by  an  event  highly  unex- 
pected by  Freddy's  mother.  Clara,  in  the  course  of  her 
incursions  into  those  artistic  circles  which  were  the  high- 


Pygmalion  217 

est  within  her  reach,  discovered  that  her  conversational 
qualifications  were  expected  to  include  a  grounding  in. 
the  novels  of  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells.  She  borrowed  them  in 
various  directions  so  energetically  that  she  swallowed 
them  all  within  two  months.  The  result  was  a  conversion 
of  a  kind  quite  common  today.  A  modern  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  would  fill  fifty  whole  Bibles  if  anyone  were 
capable  of  writing  it. 

Poor  Clara,  who  appeared  to  Higgins  and  his  mother 
as  a  disagreeable  and  ridiculous  person,  and  to  her  own 
mother  as  in  some  inexplicable  way  a  social  failure,  had 
never  seen  herself  in  either  light;  for,  though  to  some 
extent  ridiculed  and  mimicked  in  West  Kensington  like 
everybody  else  there,  she  was  accepted  as  a  rational  and 
normal — or  shall  we  say  inevitable? — sort  of  human  be- 
ing. At  worst  they  called  her  The  Pusher ;  but  to  them  no 
more  than  to  herself  had  it  ever  occurred  that  she  was 
pushing  the  air,  and  pushing  it  in  a  wrong  direction. 
Still,  she  was  not  happy.  She  was  growing  desperate. 
Her  one  asset,  the  fact  that  her  mother  was  what  the 
Epsom  greengrocer  called  a  carriage  lady  had  no  ex- 
change value,  apparently.  It  had  prevented  her  from 
getting  educated,  because  the  only  education  she  could 
have  afforded  was  education  with  the  Earlscourt  green- 
grocer's daughter.  It  had  led  her  to  seek  the  society  of 
her  mother's  class ;  and  that  class  simply  would  not  have 
her,  because  she  was  much  poorer  than  the  greengrocer, 
and,  far  from  being  able  to  afford  a  maid,  could  not  af- 
ford even  a  housemaid,  and  had  to  scrape  along  at  home 
with  an  illiberally  treated  general  servant.  Under  such 
circumstances  nothing  could  give  her  an  air  of  being  a 
genuine  product  of  Largelady  Park.  And  yet  its  tra- 
dition made  her  regard  a  marriage  with  anyone  within 
her  reach  as  an  unbearable  humiliation.  Commercial 
people  and  professional  people  in  a  small  way  were 
odious  to  her.     She  ran  after  painters  and  novelists;  but 


218  Pygmalion 

she  did  not  charm  them;  and  her  bold  attempts  to  pick 
up  and  practise  artistic  and  literary  talk  irritated  them. 
She  was,  in  short,  an  utter  failure,  an  ignorant,  incom- 
petent, pretentious,  unwelcome,  penniless,  useless  little 
snob;  and  though  she  did  not  admit  these  disqualifica- 
tions (for  nobody  ever  faces  unpleasant  truths  of  this 
kind  until  the  possibility  of  a  way  out  dawns  on  them) 
she  felt  their  effects  too  keenly  to  be  satisfied  with  her 
position, 

Clara  had  a  startling  eyeopener  when,  on  being  sud- 
denly wakened  to  enthusiasm  by  a  girl  of  her  own  age 
who  dazzled  her  and  produced  in  her  a  gushing  desire  to 
take  her  for  a  model,  and  gain  her  friendship,  she  dis- 
covered that  this  exquisite  apparition  had  graduated 
from  the  gutter  in  a  few  months'  time.  It  shook  her  so 
violently,  that  when  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  lifted  her  on  the 
point  of  his  puissant  pen,  and  placed  her  at  the  angle 
of  view  from  which  the  life  she  was  leading  and  the 
society  to  which  she  clung  appeared  in  its  true  relation 
to  real  human  needs  and  worthy  social  structure,  he 
effected  a  conversion  and  a  conviction  of  sin  comparable 
to  the  most  sensational  feats  of  General  Booth  or  Gypsy 
Smith.  Clara's  snobbery  went  bang.  Life  suddenly  be- 
gan to  move  with  her.  Without  knowing  how  or  why, 
she  began  to  make  friends  and  enemies.  Some  of  the 
acquaintances  to  whom  she  had  been  a  tedious  or  in- 
different or  ridiculous  affliction,  dropped  her:  others  be- 
came cordial.  To  her  amazement  she  found  that  some 
"quite  nice"  people  were  saturated  with  Wells,  and  that 
this  accessibility  to  ideas  was  the  secret  of  their  nice- 
ness.  People  she  had  thought  deeply  religious,  and  had 
tried  to  conciliate  on  that  tack  with  disastrous  results, 
suddenly  took  an  interest  in  her,  and  revealed  a  hostility 
to  conventional  religion  which  she  had  never  conceived 
possible  except  among  the  most  desperate  characters. 
They  made  her  read  Galsworthy;  and  Galsworthy  ex.- 


Pygmalion  219 

posed  the  vanity  of  Largelady  Park  and  finished  her. 
It  exasperated  her  to  think  that  the  dungeon  in  which 
she  had  languished  for  so  many  unhappy  years  had  been 
unlocked  all  the  time,  and  that  the  impulses  she  had  so 
carefully  struggled  with  and  stifled  for  the  sake  of  keep- 
ing well  with  society,  were  precisely  those  by  which 
alone  she  could  have  come  into  any  sort  of  sincere  human 
contact.  In  the  radiance  of  these  discoveries,  and  the 
tumult  of  their  reaction,  she  made  a  fool  of  herself  as 
freely  and  conspicuously  as  when  she  so  rashly  adopted 
Eliza's  expletive  in  Mrs.  Higgins's  drawing-room;  for 
the  new-born  Wellsian  had  to  find  her  bearings  almost 
as  ridiculously  as  a  baby;  but  nobody  hates  a  baby  for 
its  ineptitudes,  or  thinks  the  worse  of  it  for  trying  to 
eat  the  matches;  and  Clara  lost  no  friends  by  her  follies. 
They  laughed  at  her  to  her  face  this  time;  and  she  had 
to  defend  herself  and  fight  it  out  as  best  she  could. 

When  Freddy  paid  a  visit  to  Earlscourt  (which  he 
never  did  when  he  could  possibly  help  it)  to  make  the 
desolating  announcement  that  he  and  his  Eliza  were 
thinking  of  blackening  the  Largelady  scutcheon  by  open- 
ing a  shop,  he  found  the  little  household  already  con- 
vulsed by  a  prior  announcement  from  Clara  that  she 
also  was  going  to  work  in  an  old  furniture  shop  in  Dover 
Street,  which  had  been  started  by  a  fellow  Wellsian. 
This  appointment  Clara  owed,  after  all,  to  her  old  social 
accomplishment  of  Push.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
that,  cost  what  it  might,  she  would  see  Mr.  Wells  in  the 
flesh;  and  she  had  achieved  her  end  at  a  garden  party- 
She  had  better  luck  than  so  rash  an  enterprise  deserved. 
Mr.  Wells  came  up  to  her  expectations.  Age  had  not 
withered  him,  nor  could  custom  stale  his  infinite  variety 
in  half  an  hour.  His  pleasant  neatness  and  compactness, 
his  small  hands  and  feet,  his  teeming  ready  brain,  his 
unaffected  accessibility,  and  a  certain  fine  apprehensive- 
ness  which  stamped  him  as  susceptible  from  his  topmost 


220  Pygmalion 

hair  to  his  tipmost  toe,  proved  irresistible.  Clara  talked 
of  nothing  else  for  weeks  and  weeks  afterwards.  And 
as  she  happened  to  talk  to  the  lady  of  the  furniture  shop, 
and  that  lady  also  desired  above  all  things  to  know  Mr. 
Wells  and  sell  pretty  things  to  him,  she  offered  Clara  a 
job  on  the  chance  of  achieving  that  end  through  her. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Eliza's  luck  held,  and  the 
expected  opposition  to  the  flower  shop  melted  away.  The 
shop  is  in  the  arcade  of  a  railway  station  not  very  far 
from  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum ;  and  if  you  live  in 
that  neighborhood  you  may  go  there  any  day  and  buy 
a  buttonhole  from  Eliza. 

Now  here  is  a  last  opportunity  for  romance.  Would 
you  not  like  to  be  assured  that  the  shop  was  an  immense 
success,  thanks  to  Eliza's  charms  and  her  early  business 
experience  in  Covent  Garden?  Alas!  the  truth  is  the 
truth:  the  shop  did  not  pay  for  a  long  time,  simply  be- 
cause Eliza  and  her  Freddy  did  not  know  how  to  keep  it. 
True,  Eliza  had  not  to  begin  at  the  very  beginning:  she 
knew  the  names  and  prices  of  the  cheaper  flowers;  and 
her  elation  was  unbounded  when  she  found  that  Freddy, 
like  all  youths  educated  at  cheap,  pretentious,  and 
thoroughly  inefiicient  schools,  knew  a  little  Latin.  It  was 
very  little,  but  enough  to  make  him  appear  to  her  a  Por- 
son  or  Bentley,  and  to  put  him  at  his  ease  with  botanical 
nomenclature.  Unfortunately  he  knew  nothing  else;  and 
Eliza,  though  she  could  count  money  up  to  eighteen 
shillings  or  so,  and  had  acquired  a  certain  familiarity 
with  the  language  of  Milton  from  her  struggles  to 
qualify  herself  for  winning  Higgins's  bet,  could  not 
write  out  a  bill  without  utterly  disgracing  the  establish- 
ment. Freddy's  power  of  stating  in  Latin  that  Balbus 
built  a  wall  and  that  Gaul  was  divided  into  three  parts 
did  not  carry  with  it  the  slightest  knowledge  of  accounts 
or  business:  Colonel  Pickering  had  to  explain  to  him 
what  a  cheque  book  and  a  bank  account  meant.    And  the 


Pygmalion  221 

pair  were  by  no  means  easily  teachable.  Freddy  backed 
up  Eliza  in  her  obstinate  refusal  to  believe  that  they 
could  save  money  by  engaging  a  bookkeeper  with  some 
knowledge  of  the  business.  How,  they  argued,  could  you 
possibly  save  money  by  going  to  extra  expense  when  you 
already  could  not  make  both  ends  meet?  But  the 
Colonel,  after  making  the  ends  meet  over  and  over  again, 
at  last  gently  insisted;  and  Eliza,  humbled  to  the  dust 
by  having  to  beg  from  him  so  often,  and  stung  by  the  up- 
roarious derision  of  Higgins,  to  whom  the  notion  of 
Freddy  succeeding  at  anything  was  a  joke  that  never 
palled,  grasped  the  fact  that  business,  like  phonetics,  has 
to  be  learned. 

On  the  piteous  spectacle  of  the  pair  spending  their 
evenings  in  shorthand  schools  and  polytechnic  classes, 
learning  bookkeeping  and  tj^^pewriting  with  incipient 
junior  clerks,  male  and  female,  from  the  elementary 
schools,  let  me  not  dwell.  There  were  even  classes  at 
the  London  School  of  Economics,  and  a  humble  personal 
appeal  to  the  director  of  that  institution  to  recommend  a 
course  bearing  on  the  flower  business.  He,  being  a 
humorist,  explained  to  them  the  method  of  the  celebrated 
Dickensian  essay  on  Chinese  Metaphysics  by  the  gentle- 
man who  read  an  article  on  China  and  an  article  on 
Metaphysics  and  combined  the  information.  He  sug- 
gested that  they  should  combine  the  London  School  with 
Kew  Gardens.  Eliza,  to  whom  the  procedure  of  the 
Dickensian  gentleman  seemed  perfectly  correct  (as  in 
fact  it  was)  and  not  in  the  least  funny  (which  was  only 
her  ignorance)  took  his  advice  with  entire  gravity.  But 
the  effort  that  cost  her  the  deepest  humiliation  was  a  re- 
quest to  Higgins,  whose  pet  artistic  fancy,  next  to  Mil- 
ton's verse,  was  caligraphy,  and  who  himself  wrote  a 
most  beautiful  Italian  hand,  that  he  would  teach  her  to 
write.  He  declared  that  she  was  congenitally  incapable 
of  forming  a  single  letter  worthy  of  the  least  of  Milton's 


222  Pygmalion 

■words?  but  she  persisted;  and  again  he  suddenly  threw 
himself  into  the  task  of  teaching  her  with  a  combination 
of  stormy  intensity,  concentrated  patience,  and  occasional 
bursts  of  interesting  disquisition  on  the  beauty  and 
nobility,  the  august  mission  and  destiny,  of  human  hand- 
writing. Eliza  ended  by  acquiring  an  extremely  uncom- 
mercial script  which  was  a  positive  extension  of  her  per- 
sonal beauty,  and  spending  three  times  as  much  on  sta- 
tionery as  anyone  else  because  certain  qualities  and 
shapes  of  paper  became  indispensable  to  her.  She  could 
not  even  address  an  envelope  in  the  usual  way  because  it 
made  the  margins  all  wrong. 

Their  commercial  school  days  were  a  period  of  dis- 
grace and  despair  for  the  young  couple.  They  seemed 
to  be  learning  nothing  about  flower  sliops.  At  last  they 
gave  it  up  as  hopeless,  and  shook  tlie  dust  of  the  short- 
hand scliools,  and  the  polytechnics,  and  the  London 
School  of  Economics  from  their  feet  for  ever.  Besides, 
the  business  was  in  some  mysterious  way  beginning  to 
take  care  of  itself.  They  had  somehow  forgotten  their 
objections  to  employing  other  people.  They  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  their  own  way  was  the  best,  and  that 
they  had  really  a  remarkable  talent  for  business.  The 
Colonel,  who  had  been  compelled  for  some  years  to  keep 
a  sufficient  sum  on  current  account  at  his  bankers  to  make 
up  their  deficits,  found  that  the  provision  was  unneces- 
sary :  the  young  people  were  prospering.  It  is  true  that 
there  was  not  quite  fair  play  between  them  and  their 
competitors  in  trade.  Their  week-ends  in  the  country 
cost  them  nothing,  and  saved  them  the  price  of  their 
Sunday  dinners ;  for  the  motor  car  was  the  Colonel's ;  and 
he  and  Higgins  paid  the  hotel  bills.  Mr.  F.  Hill,  florist 
and  greengrocer  (they  soon  discovered  that  there  was 
money  in  asparagus;  and  asparagus  led  to  other  veg- 
etables), had  an  air  which  stamped  the  business  as 
classy;  and  in  private  life  he  was  still  Frederick  Eyns- 


Pygmalion  223 

ford  Hill,  Esquire.  Not  tliat  there  was  any  swank  about 
him :  nobody  but  Eliza  knew  that  he  had  been  christened 
Frederick  Challoner.  Eliza  herself  swanked  like  any- 
thing. 

That  is  all.  That  is  how  it  has  turned  out.  It  is 
astonishing  how  much  Eliza  still  manages  to  meddle  in 
the  housekeeping  at  Wimpole  Street  in  spite  of  the  shop 
and  her  own  family.  And  it  is  notable  that  though  she 
never  nags  her  husband,  and  frankly  loves  the  Colonel 
as  if  she  were  his  favorite  daughter,  she  has  never  got 
out  of  the  habit  of  nagging  Higgins  that  was  established 
on  the  fatal  night  wlien  she  won  his  bet  for  him.  She 
snaps  his  head  off  on  the  faintest  provocation,  or  on 
none.  He  no  longer  dares  to  tease  her  by  assuming  an 
abysmal  inferioi'ity  of  Freddy's  mind  to  his  own.  He 
storms  and  bullies  and  derides ;  but  she  stands  up  to  him 
so  ruthlessly  that  the  Colonel  has  to  ask  her  from  time 
to  time  to  be  kinder  to  Higgins ;  and  it  is  the  only  re- 
quest of  his  that  brings  a  mulish  expression  into  her  face. 
Nothing  but  some  emergency  or  calamity  great  enough  to 
break  down  all  likes  and  dislikes,  and  throw  them  both 
back  on  their  common  humanity — and  may  they  be 
spared  any  such  trial ! — will  ever  alter  this.  She  knows 
that  Higgins  does  not  need  her,  just  as  her  father  did 
not  need  her.  The  very  scrupulousness  with  which  he 
told  her  that  day  that  he  had  become  used  to  having  her 
there,  and  dependent  on  her  for  all  sorts  of  little  services, 
and  tliat  he  should  miss  her  if  she  went  away  (it  would 
never  have  occurred  to  Freddy  or  the  Colonel  to  say  any- 
thing of  the  sort)  deepens  her  inner  certainty  that  she  is 
"no  more  to  him  than  them  slippers",  yet  she  has  a 
sense,  too,  that  his  indifference  is  deeper  than  the  in- 
fatuation of  commoner  souls.  She  is  immensely  inter- 
ested in  him.  She  has  even  secret  mischievous  moments 
in  which  she  wishes  she  could  get  him  alone,  on  a  desert 
island,  away  from  all  ties  and  with  nobody  else  in  the 


224  Pygmalion 

■world  to  consider,  and  just  drag  him  off  his  pedestal  and 
see  him  making  love  like  any  common  man.  We  all  have 
private  imaginations  of  that  sort.  But  when  it  comes 
to  business,  to  the  life  that  she  really  leads  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  life  of  dreams  and  fancies,  she  likes 
Freddy  and  she  likes  the  Colonel;  and  she  does  not  like 
Higgins  and  Mr.  Doolittle.  Galatea  never  does  quite 
like  Pygmalion:  his  relation  to  her  is  too  godlike  to  be 
altogether  agreeable. 


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